Hunting the Grim
by Sophprosyne
Summary: Betrayal and isolation are a disquieting combination. Forced to accept life altering truths about Sirius Black, Harry must fulfill his potential in order to right an injustice over a decade old. PoA.
1. Chapter 1

Sunlight glinted off the gleaming exterior of the Hogwarts Express. Students chatted and made their way on the train for the holidays. Harry watched on as Fred and George surreptitiously flicked their wands at Dean Thomas' shoes, tying his laces together as he was talking to Seamus. Other students were saying goodbye to their friends, wishing them happy holidays and promising to send their gifts in time for Christmas morning. The platform was a crowded, cheerful, mess.

Ron and Hermione were beside Harry. They were as quiet as he was. Harry knew that they were feeling guilty about leaving him for the holidays, especially with Sirius Black marauding the countryside.

"We'll write you," Ron promised, trying his best to smile.

"I feel awful about leaving you here by yourself," Hermione said.

"I'm not by myself," Harry said. "Plenty of other people are staying too. It'll just be quieter without you two bickering all the time."

That got a genuine grin out of Ron, before he said, "You know I'd stay or bring you back to the Burrow, but we haven't seen Charlie in ages and he pulled a lot of strings getting us an international portkey. We can't just cancel on that."

"And I tried to convince my parents to let me stay but they insisted I come home to see there for the holiday," Hermione said.

"Honestly, it's not a big deal you two. I'll be fine," Harry said, turning to look at Hermione.

She flung her arms around him, squeezing tighter than Harry would have liked. "Promise me you won't do anything stupid," she whispered. "Sirius Black is dangerous."

"Me, do something stupid? Never." Hermione let go of him and looked disapproving. He got a short laugh out of Ron.

"Harry'll be fine," Ron said. "He slew a bloody basilisk with a sword last year. I doubt Black will be able to do much worse. Besides, there are dementors everywhere around the school. He isn't getting in without anybody noticing. Even You-Know-Who was afraid of Dumbledore. Harry's probably safer at Hogwarts than he is anywhere else."

Hermione remained unconvinced by Ron. "I suppose," she finally said. She gave him one last lingering glance, as if to try to convey by force of expression that he had better be careful, and then she picked up her carry-on luggage and said, "Have a good holiday, Harry. We'll write you."

"Later mate," Ron said.

They boarded the Hogwarts Express. The platform had emptied, most of the students having gotten on the train. The only people left were students who were, like him, staying at Hogwarts for the holiday, waving goodbye to their friends. Harry didn't know many of the students left on the platform. There was a tall Hufflepuff with immaculate hair who seemed to be waving goodbye to everyone on the train. Harry recognized him as Cedric Diggory, having played against the other seeker in a few quidditch matches.

The train grinded away from the platform, not picking up speed until it was already too far away to make out individual faces. Hermione and Ron had waved until they were nothing but indistinct figures in the distance.

With his friends gone Harry wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. He was the only Gryffindor in his year that was staying. Quidditch, chess, exploding snap; none were games that he could play by himself. Somewhat sullen, Harry started trekking back up to Hogwarts. The weather had turned for the worse and the cold was sharp. Harry pulled his cloak more tightly around his body. A few other students were on the path with him, but none within fifty yards. They were all walking alone as well. Harry wondered why they were staying at Hogwarts. As much as he loved Hogwarts he knew that if he had been able to go to the Burrow with Ron he would've without hesitation.

Nearing the school, Harry decided to see if Professor Lupin was around. If he wasn't able to do anything fun he might as well be doing something productive. Harry had all but demanded that Professor Lupin teach him the Patronus Charm and the man had agreed, but put Harry off until the holidays began. Well, Harry thought, technically the holidays had begun.

A goal in mind, Harry weaved his way through the empty passages hallways of Hogwarts. When school was in session there was an almost palpable sense of magic, an intersection of youth and excitability with the mysteries of magic that had caused Harry to fall in love with the school in the first place. But when Hogwarts emptied out for the holidays it lost some of its charm. The stateliness was still there, grandeur in every antique suit of armor and famous portrait, but it was colder. Students breathed life into the school and they took some its vitality with them when they left.

It didn't escape Harry's notice that when there were fewer students at school the staircases moved less frequently, trick doors became less common, and constantly rearranging rooms became more static. It was as if the castle was trying to impress its inhabitants and when it lost most of its audience its efforts become more desultory.

The door to Lupin's office was open and he was inside. He looked to be deep in thought, several books that Harry didn't recognize placed carefully open on his desk. His back was to Harry and he was hunched over top the books so Harry knocked twice on the frame of the door.

Whirling around, as if he had been caught doing something he should have been doing in private, Lupin saw Harry. He composed himself quickly, shutting the books that were on his desk and waving his wand at them, floating them from his desk into a trunk that they piled neatly into and which snapped shut after they were inside.

"Come in, Harry," Lupin said. Harry decided not to ask what the professor had been doing and came inside, taking a seat at the chair Lupin gestured toward. Lupin took a seat behind his desk, looking expectantly at Harry.

"What can I help you with?"

"I'd like to start learning the Patronus Charm now, professor," Harry said.

"I had expected this visit soon enough, though I must confess I'm surprised you're here so soon," he said. "Normally students like to relax the first few days of their breaks. Or all of them. I know I did."

Harry didn't mention Ron or Hermione's absence. Instead he said, "I think the sooner I'm able to cast this spell the better. I don't want what happened at the quidditch match to happen again."

Lupin looked troubled. "No, you're right. The dementors affect you strongly enough that their presence at Hogwarts is an unacceptable risk. The match against Hufflepuff showed that. Alright then, we'll begin now then. I must warn you Harry, the Patronus Charm is powerful magic. There are many adult witches and wizards who are never able to learn it. It involves several different, equally difficult, areas of magic. I would suggest that you not expect to be able to produce a corporeal patronus any time soon."

"Corporeal patronus, sir?"

Lupin got up and walked over to his bookshelf. He knew exactly where the book he was looking for was, pulling it off the shelf and glancing at it briefly.

"A corporeal patronus is the Patronus Charm given form. It is what will happen when you've mastered the spell. The corporeal patronus takes on the form of an animal and protects you from the dementors, driving them away. For your purposes an incorporeal patronus, the charm operating as a shield, should me sufficient. After we're done here today I want you to read this," he said, handing the book to Harry. It was titled _The Patronus Charm as a Manifold of Positive Sensibility_. Harry almost groaned out loud.

"It isn't light reading," Lupin said. "However, a grasp of the theory behind a spell will always enable you to more adequately perform the spell. With something as difficult as the Patronus Charm, and as inexperienced as you are, the theory is an absolute necessity."

Harry skimmed one section, about halfway through the book, and winced. It was just words thrown together meaninglessly as far as he could tell. The book's only saving grace was that it couldn't have been more than a hundred pages.

Anticipating his reaction, Lupin said, "It makes sense if you start from the beginning. There are a number of terms the author uses that get defined earlier and used often throughout the book. That's usually true with the more theoretical texts. Pay close attention and you won't have any trouble."

"Thank you," Harry said.

Lupin nodded. "Now, shall we begin?" Harry stood up and Lupin positioned him in front of a shaking cabinet at the back of his office. "I kept the boggart we used in class here on the off chance I might need to use it again. Using a real dementor is, of course, inadvisable, but you do need something to practice on. I will open the cabinet doors and you will attempt to perform the Patronus Charm. I'll show you how it's done."

He demonstrated the Patronus Charm, a well-defined wolf coalescing from energy as hazy as smoke. The creature looked solid and Harry was sure that if he touched it he would be able to feel the wolf's fur bristling fur. It passed by him and Harry ran a finger out, but it went through the patronus, not seeming to affect it in any way.

"It's beautiful," Harry said wistfully. "How do you know what form your patronus will take."

"Nobody can say for sure," Lupin said. Harry thought he looked a little uneasy. He supposed that having a wolf for a patronus made Lupin think people felt uncomfortable around him. "It seems to be related to personality characteristics though. Are you ready to begin?"

Harry drew his wand, readying himself mentally from the horror he knew lurked inside the cabinet. The boggart may have been formless when unseen, but when it came out it was indistinguishable from any other dementor. He reminded himself that boggarts couldn't hurt anyone. They were pests, not menaces.

"Remember what I told you in our last meeting. You need a happy memory, the happiest memory you can think of. Only that will enable you to perform the Patronus Charm."

With that he whipped his wand at the cabinet and the doors exploded open, the dementor, boggart, Harry reminded himself, prowling footlessly across the open office floor. A suffocating blackness seemed to be descending on Harry. He felt oppressed, joys he never knew he had being slowly sucked away. It wasn't as overpowering as it would have been in the presence of a real dementor, but the effects were there regardless.

" _Expecto Patronum_ ," Harry muttered. He knew, even before he cast the spell, that the memory wasn't there. He had been trying to think of the first time he flew, the feeling of weightlessness, speed, and grace; but that was gone. There was a gaping void, not so much the presence of misery as the absence of happiness.

Not even a flicker came out of his wand. The dementor was closer, the struggle to _feel_ something even more intolerable. Harry's vision started to speckle black and the pressure in his head that he associated with passing out built.

" _Expecto Patronum_!" He tried again, this time hoping that force would prevail where the intricacy of the spell itself had not. A wisp of something, the spell perhaps, fluttered from his wand and fell to the ground, stillborn. He could hear a women screaming and it cut him inside.

Real despair, not the kind the dementor produced, filled Harry. The dementor was too close, he saw. He didn't have time for another spell.

There was the vague sound of a spell being cast and Lupin hovered in front of his vision.

He didn't pass out. Harry found himself prostrate, shaking, and feeling nauseous, but he was still awake. Lupin was looking at him with concern. He had a bar of chocolate in his hands.

"I was hoping that the effect the boggart would have on you would not be quite that severe. I'm afraid this process will be quite unpleasant, at least until you can create some measure of protection against dementors."

Pushing himself to his feet Harry took the proffered chocolate bar. He unwrapped it but didn't eat. "I thought, when I cast the spell a second time, that I saw something. A flicker."

"You saw magic but you didn't see the Patronus Charm," Lupin said. "Without the memory the Patronus Charm is pure magic. It provides no defense against dementors. You have to learn to produce both at the same time. That flicker showed that you have a grasp of one aspect of the spell, the raw magic side of things, but you still have to find a memory strong enough."

Seeing the trouble Harry was having standing, Lupin said, "I think that will be all for today. You have an idea what to expect. Start reading the book and we can try again soon."

"When, sir?" Harry asked. He knew that he was risking sounding rude but every time he came up against a dementor he was exposed, and all he had accomplished was dust to those creatures. He was defenseless, something he hadn't felt since he was a child, and he hated it.

"Start working on the book tonight. You can come back here tomorrow, after dinner, and we will try again. Eat," he said, miming taking a bite out of the chocolate bar.

Harry did so, but the chocolate was tasteless in his mouth. His mind turned to Sirius Black as he ate. He thought about the danger Black posed. Every year there had been something, and every year Hermione said that nothing would happen to him, that he was safe as long as he listened to Dumbledore and the professors. Harry wasn't sure he believed that any longer. Dumbledore was powerful, true, but he wasn't omniscient. He could be fooled, like any other man. If Harry was to make sure that Sirius Black wasn't a threat to him it would be because Harry kept himself safe, not because Dumbledore did. Harry took another bite of the chocolate.

"Professor," he started. "Dementors aren't the only threat."

Lupin gestured for Harry to go on. He was staring at him, more intent on what Harry had to say than he had expected.

"Sirius Black. Mr. Weasley told me…well, he said that he was Voldemort's right hand man. That he was dangerous and that he might try to kill me, for revenge."

Slowly, as if it took great effort to do so, Lupin nodded. A stormy expression, indecipherable to Harry, passed over his face. "All true," he said, his voice low.

"Well, I was thinking that, since we're already working on the Patronus Charm, we could work on other spells too. Spells that might help protect me from Black."

"Harry, I don't mean to frighten you, but if you come up against Black you're not likely to survive the encounter, no matter how many spells you know. He fought in the war, and he was dangerous. One of the most dangerous duelists there was. I say that so that you'll stay safe, because if you are exposed and Black finds you there's little you could do to stop him." The words coming out of Lupin's mouth seemed to pain him. Harry didn't stop to wonder why that might be.

"But anything could help, even if it just makes me feel safer. Even Dumbledore had to start somewhere. If I want to protect myself I need to learn how. My first year here my Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher tried to kill me. My second year here a basilisk was unleashed on the school and I had to kill it with a sword. This year it's Black. There's no point in trying to pretend that I'm safe, that nothing bad can ever happen to me at Hogwarts. Even if it doesn't help me against Black, learning to defend myself can only be a good thing."

Harry looked to Lupin, trying to see if his words had had the desired effect. He hadn't put his thoughts into order like that before, but when he was saying them it all seemed to make sense. Hermione was the one who relied on teachers, on others, to keep her safe. Harry knew that the only way to make sure you were safe was to become strong enough that nobody else could hurt you.

"I'm sorry to hear that you feel that way; that you feel we aren't able to keep you safe." Harry began to try to interrupt but Lupin held up a hand. "However, much as it upsets me to hear you speak like that it doesn't mean that you're not right. Black is a threat and you're not always with teachers. We don't know how long he'll be on the loose. He's clever. Training you now, in preparation for the future, is a good idea."

Here Lupin paused again, as if deciding what to say. Harry felt excitement again. He had purpose now, something to spend his time working on. The holidays, which had seemed so long and lonely before, now seemed filled with potential.

"When you come back tomorrow I'll have some ideas for what to teach you," Lupin said. "And some books that you'll need to read. I know that you're not as much of a reader as your friend, Hermione, but some things can't be escaped and theory is essential for higher level magic. Natural aptitude can only take even the best wizards so far." Lupin gazed off for a moment, seeming to remember something. He smiled slightly, as if recalling a fond memory. Then he snapped back to Harry. "I hope that's acceptable for you," he said.

"It sounds brilliant, sir. Thank you."

Lupin dismissed him with a reminder to finish the chocolate bar and begin reading the book. Harry left his office feeling elated.

* * *

Harry still had half an hour before he was supposed to be at Lupin's office but he had been bored all day and decided to go early, to see if Lupin was there. He had spent most of his time since the day before reading through the book Lupin had given him. It was the most complicated book he had ever read in his life, discussing things like the synthetic unity of positive sensibility in relation to the imagination. A lot of it went over his head, and the little he understood was of questionable applicability.

From what he could puzzle out the Patronus Charm wasn't just a single happy memory given form. It was the most fundamental feeling of that memory, broken down and magnified, then used as a weapon against the dementors, to drive them away. There was nothing about what type of memory had to be used, it merely had to arouse powerful happiness in Harry. He had laid in bed for an hour, searching his memory, trying to decide what would work best as a shield for the dementor. He was surprised by how much difficulty he was having. Harry had thought that the happiest memory of his life (which was undoubtedly what would work best for him) would be something that he would have had no trouble coming up with. Instead, it had taken him all night to think of.

He had figured it out though. He was confident that with the beginning of the grounding in theory and his memory he would be able to at least produce something resembling the patronus charm. Harry also hoped that Lupin would have started thinking of spells to teach him. After finishing reading Lupin's short book on the Patronus Charm Harry had flipped through his _Standard Book of Spells_ and found almost nothing related to defensive magic. Either it would be taught to them when they were older or Hogwarts didn't emphasize the defensive part of Defense Against the Dark Arts.

As he neared Lupin's office he could hear voices from within. He decided to wait outside, not wanting to interrupt. He couldn't help but listen in, recognizing McGonagall's voice. She was talking to Lupin.

"I'm not saying that you shouldn't teach the boy. I'm saying that you should be careful _what_ you teach him. He's a Gryffindor, and as much as that means he's brave and caring, it also means that he's headstrong and proud. Having him become a danger to himself or his peers is the last thing we want."

Harry bristled at her mistrust but listened on. Lupin didn't sound as if he agreed with McGonagall either. "If he isn't a threat to his peers then he's no threat to Black. That's the entire point of this. We can't have things both ways."

"And what if you train the boy and he should learn the truth. What if he thinks that he's capable of fighting Sirius Black and he learns that Black is the one who betrayed his parents to You-Know-Who? He'll go looking for him. He'll hunt Black down. By trying to protect him you're only making it more likely that he'll put himself in danger."

Harry had known anger before. He had raged at Dudley, at Vernon and Petunia, at everyone who had treated him like a pariah when they thought he was the Heir of Slytherin. But that was different from what he was feeling then. His was an unfocused, gradually building rage, as if McGonagall's words didn't sink in all at once but had to be digested. Black was the traitor. Black betrayed his parents. Black was the reason they were dead. Black was the reason he had no family.

The training took on a more essential quality in his head. Before it had been like every other year at Hogwarts. There was something going on and he had to protect himself from it. But this was different, more personal. Black had taken his chance at having a family, as good as killed his mother and father. Voldemort was just a phantom, an insubstantial threat still spoken of in hushed tones. Black was flesh and blood; he could be destroyed. And in that moment there was nothing that Harry wanted more than to be the one to destroy him.

McGonagall and Lupin had kept talking but Harry had heard none of what was said. He was walking away from Lupin's office, making sure that his footsteps weren't loud enough that they would hear him. Harry waited in a side passage until it was nearly time for his lesson with Lupin.

There was no chance that he would be able to produce a patronus, he knew that, but he also knew that it would be suspicious if he didn't show up. He decided to go, do his best on the patronus, and then pump Lupin for any help he could give on defensive magic.

McGonagall was gone when Harry went back to Lupin's office. Lupin was standing alone, deep in thought, leaning against his desk. He looked up when Harry entered and gave him a faint smile.

"Were you able to get anywhere in the book I gave you?"

"I finished it. I'm not sure how much of it I understood though," Harry said.

"Any time I spent going over the theory with you would just be time spent not working on the charm itself. I suggest that if things are still unclear that you read it again. A great magical theorist once said that there is no reading, only rereading. Do you have a memory in mind?"

"I think so. It should be better than my last one."

"Excellent. If you're ready we can begin." Lupin gave Harry a doubtful look. Harry knew that he probably wasn't looking altogether eager to begin. He didn't feel as if he had the energy to practice the patronus. It wasn't in him after learning the truth.

He nodded anyway. Lupin took up his usual position and, with the same flick of his wand, the doors to the boggart's cabinet surged open.

It was worse than it had been last time. The dementor didn't have to close the space between it and Harry for Harry to start feeling the despair. It was more crushing than it had been last time. There was a cacophony of voices in his head. A woman screaming, his mother screaming. McGonagall saying that it was Black. Black is the traitor. Black is the traitor was the refrain echoing around his head.

" _Expecto Patronum_." He didn't expect the spell to work and it didn't. As the dementor closed the distance between them the screams got louder, the refrain more insistent.

It was almost a relief when Harry felt the darkness coming on; he saw it at the edges of his vision. Unlike last time he didn't try to fight it. He embraced it as an escape from the terribleness of the present. His last thought before he lost consciousness was that he hoped Lupin wouldn't make him try again.

When he awoke Lupin was standing over him, wand in one hand and chocolate in the other, looking concerned.

"It didn't have such a strong effect on you last time," he said.

"I know. I'm not sure what happened. It was…worse than it was before. Stronger. I could hear the screaming right away."

Harry chewed on the chocolate bar Lupin handed him. It did make him feel better, and he was hoping that Lupin wouldn't make him try again. He knew a second attempt would be no better than the first.

"I doubt that trying again tonight would be any use," Lupin said. "We might as well move on to the other magic you asked me to teach you." Inwardly, Harry rejoiced. "I gave a lot of thought to what I should teach you and came up with a list of spells that all competent duelists know. I'll teach you those first, and if you're still not satisfied we can move on to the more complicated spells."

On Lupin's desk was a short piece of parchment with Lupin's looping scrawl on it, and a pile of books underneath that. Lupin went over and picked them off. He read the titles out loud. " _Extreme Incantations_ , _Self-Defensive Spellwork_ , _Counter-Curse Handbook_ ,and _Confronting the Faceless_. The spells written on this list can be found in one or more of these books. You will read the theory behind two spells for each meeting and we'll practice them before moving on to the Patronus Charm."

He handed the spell list to Harry. He recognized only a few of the spells; the Reductor Curse and the Hurling Hex, but there were many others he didn't; the Conjunctivitis Curse, the Shield Charm, the Blasting Curse, and the Bombarding Charm. Harry had the sinking feeling that none of them were third year spells.

"These spells will be difficult for you to learn," Lupin said. "They're not usually taught until students are working on or finished their O.W.L.s, but if you're going to defend yourself these are necessities."

"I understand, professor."

"Good. We won't meet tomorrow. You need time to prepare for the boggart again and to start learning these spells. We'll begin with the Shield Charm and Hurling Hex. They're two basic, and useful, spells in every duelist's arsenal. Come back on Tuesday. That should give you time to read the theory and try the spells out."

Harry turned around to leave, hearing the dismissal in Lupin's words, when the professor called him back. "And Harry, if you ever want to talk about something, if something's bothering you outside of just school, you can talk to me."

"Thank you, professor, but I'm fine. Really." And as he left he felt Lupin's eyes on his back and knew that the man didn't believe him, that he suspected something. But Harry's head was too filled with elaborate fantasies of revenge to care. Black, he thought, glancing once more at the spell list. Sirius Black.

* * *

His next meeting with Lupin was scheduled for Tuesday, which gave Harry two days to prepare the Shield Charm and Hurling Hex. The latter was a simple matter. It was essentially a variation on the Knockback Jinx, a simple spell he had learned the year before. Even Lockhart hadn't been enough to prevent him from learning that spell. The difference lay in the power of the two spells. According to _Self-Defensive Spellwork_ the Knockback Jinx was only sporadically able to knock an adult off their feet; it simply lacked the power to be more than a nuisance to another duelist. Its utility lay in its ability to deal with pests and some small magical creatures.

The Hurling Hex was a more powerful version of the spell. It caused serious damage on impact, with some duelists claiming that a well-executed casting of the spell could break bones on impact, to say nothing of the damage caused by whatever the spell would knock somebody into. It didn't take a vivid imagination to conceive of the flexible combat implications of the spell, both in an offensive sense, causing damage to the target, and defensive, allowing Harry to run if he came up against a stronger opponent.

Harry was confident that he would be able to perform the spell for Lupin when they got together again. He had practiced a few times in an unused classroom and the spell worked just fine.

It was the Shield Charm that was giving more trouble. In _Counter-Curse Handbook_ the author said that it was a spell that was usually taught near the end of a magical education, owing to the difficulty in creating the initial shield, maintaining it, and holding it up under spellfire. Harry had managed only to create a wispy shield initially. It failed after a few seconds and he was unable to figure out why.

Harry couldn't help but feel lonely when he was working on the spells. Normally he would have Ron lazing about beside him, keeping up a commentary on how things were going and making the occasional halfhearted attempt himself. Hermione would have mastered the spell already, of course, and she would be explaining how to work it to Harry and trying to prod Ron into practicing. But alone Harry had nothing but the books themselves to teach and entertain him. So he redoubled his efforts and spent all of his time that he wasn't at meals or sleeping trying to get the spells to work. It was tedious, but better than dwelling on Black more than he already was.

One afternoon he was in the library, practicing the Shield Charm after looking for any helpful secondary literature on it, and was about to give up after his thirteenth attempt without a success. Harry growled, his frustration mounting, when a familiar figure dropped into a chair at the other end of his table. Momentarily surprised, Harry narrowed his eyes at Cedric Diggory. The library was usually empty during the holidays and Harry had picked a table in the most remote corner he could find, specifically so that he wouldn't be interrupted. It also helped to hide him from Ms. Pince. She didn't like people practicing spells in the library and that fact that it was the holidays didn't lessen her paranoia.

"Can I help you?" Harry asked. He was aware that he was being rude but he was frustrated with his failure to get the spell to work and he didn't particularly want to speak to Cedric, friendly as he knew the other boy to be.

"Just saw you working on the Shield Charm. Pretty impressive for a third year. I didn't get around to it before last year, my fifth," Cedric said.

"You can cast it?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. Looking for some help?"

"You'd help me with it? Why?" People of different years and houses didn't mix at Hogwarts. Upperclassmen typically didn't bother with pre O.W.L.s students.

"It's the holidays, all of my friends went home and I'm bored. Besides, you're Harry Potter, so this'll probably lead to something interesting." Cedric smiled to let Harry know that he was joking and Harry found himself smiling back. There was an easygoing charm about Cedric, as if he didn't have cares or worries and he tried to make you feel the same way. Harry admired that sort of easygoingness with people, a skill he conspicuously lacked.

"What problem are you having?" Cedric asked.

"I can make the shield, but I can't sustain it. It breaks down after a few seconds," Harry said.

"Show me," Cedric said.

He watched Harry attentively, focusing on his wand movements and pronunciation. The spell worked as well as it normally did; it wisped into existence for a few moments and then collapsed on itself. Harry sighed.

"You're not concentrating on maintaining the spell," Cedric said. "I had the same problem. You're visualizing the spell to create the shield and then maintaining the flow of magic, but you aren't visualizing while you maintain the flow. Without visualizing the shield while it's running it's just going to break down after a few seconds. Won't hold up to any spell."

"Why don't the books mention that then?" Harry asked.

"Because usually it isn't third years trying to learn the spell. Visualizing a spell that requires constant input is something you'll usually learn in charms or transfiguration your fifth year. It's a skill that's required for a lot of advanced magic. You don't need it for most spells. The books take it as a given that you've got grounding in the relevant theoretical areas. Try it again."

" _Protego_ ," Harry muttered, watching as the thin shield snapped into place. He focused on the shield itself, regulating the magic and keeping the shield in his mind at the same time. It wavered and almost flickered out a few times but Harry was able to keep it alive for almost a minute. He felt drained mentally when the shield finally disappeared.

"Much better," Cedric said, a satisfied smile on his face. "The shield'll get stronger and last longer the more you use it. I can keep mine up for as long as I need now." He said this without any hint of bragging.

"Can I see yours?" Harry asked.

Cedric laughed, pulling out his wand and casting the spell. An iron blue shield, much larger and more solid than Harry's popped into existence, its surface not shimmering or flickering in the slightest. It looked like it had a physical weight to it.

"Took me a while to get it this solid," Cedric said, talking and keeping the shield running without any visible effort.

"It's impressive," Harry said.

"So," Cedric said, after dropping the shield and returning to his seat. "What leads Harry Potter, third year wizard extraordinaire, to be practicing the Shield Charm on his own over the holidays?"

"You tell me why you're still at Hogwarts and I'll tell you why I'm practicing the Shield Charm," Harry said.

"After all the help I just gave you?"

Harry shrugged.

"Fine," Cedric said. "I'm still here because my dad's working overtime at the Ministry over the holidays and my mum's taking care of my aunt. I'd be spending most of the break on my own anyway if I went home. And I like Hogwarts, even when it is quiet. Sometimes peace and quiet is nice. Your turn."

"My friends went home and I figured I might as well try to do something productive with my break. Can't exactly play exploding snap or chess by myself." Cedric looked skeptical.

"So you're on your own and you just spontaneously decided to teach yourself the Shield Charm? I don't buy it. Is this about Black?"

Harry gaped, surprised by the quality of Cedric's guess.

Cedric saw his reaction and said, "It's not exactly hard to figure out. You've got a mass murderer on the loose who served the Dark Lord you happened to bring down. No prize for guessing what that means."

"Suppose it is fairly obvious," Harry said, abashedly.

"You think he's coming after you? Sirius Black?" Cedric asked.

"Yeah. I do," Harry said.

Cedric shook his head, clearly bothered by the idea. "Well that just won't do. We can't have a mass murderer coming after you with you not even knowing how to cast a decent Shield Charm. That's not fair at all. Practically a crime. I'm going to have to work on you. You're going to be my project for the rest of the break," Cedric said.

"Your project?"

"I'm going to teach you, one on one, master and apprentice style. Everything I know, you will know." Cedric was already standing up, looking through the pile of books Harry had with him. Harry was glad that he had stuffed the list of spells Lupin had given him in his pocket. If Cedric knew he was already getting private lessons he would be less inclined to help Harry, and Harry knew that he needed all the help he could get if he wanted to bring down Black.

"These are pretty good choices," Cedric said, hefting _Confronting the Faceless_ in one hand. "Loads of useful spells in these."

"Glad you approve," Harry said. Cedric seemed not to notice the sarcasm. He was flipping through the books, folding back the ears of pages he seemed to think were important. Harry was glad Hermione wasn't witnessing the casual disregard of the books.

"The best thing we can do is give you the basics for a bunch of spells," Cedric said. It's easy to perfect a spell, just takes loads of time and practice. It's getting the basics down that kills you."

Cedric started to walk away, _Confronting the Faceless_ tucked under his arm. When Harry made no move to follow him he turned around. "Well, do you want to learn or not?"

Harry followed him.

* * *

Cedric was not an easy teacher. Patient, understanding, and knowledgeable; but demanding. After they left the library Cedric took Harry to an abandoned classroom where he pressed Harry to see how much he knew. The pile of broken chairs in the corner stretched to the ceiling. Harry figured that it was the classroom that Cedric trained in. Some of the chairs had rather alarming gouges torn into them. Charred edges were a common sight.

Rather than having Harry demonstrate his repertoire of spells, Cedric decided that they would duel. Harry lost badly.

He only got three spells off, minor jinxes at that, before Cedric had him disarmed, bound, and gagged. Personally, Harry felt that the gagging was unnecessary, more showing off than anything, but it did demonstrate to him how far off he was from being able to take on Black. Cedric was talented, maybe even prodigious, but he wasn't a hardened criminal who had fought in a civil war for years. Black was infinitely more dangerous than Cedric, and Cedric could beat Harry in seconds.

Despite Harry's poor showing, Cedric didn't seem disappointed. If anything, he seemed more excited once he saw what he had to work with. He kept muttering about "malleable" and "no ingrained bad habits." Harry would have thought it was all very sinister if Cedric hadn't been smiling when he was muttering and circling him. It came off as poor melodrama. Harry decided it was to take the sting out of losing. Cedric's greatest assets were his humor and casualness; he could defuse any tension with a simple joke or lazy question.

They began with the two spells Harry had to learn for Lupin. Cedric made Harry perform the Shield Charm a dozen times, correcting various minor flaws in his pronunciation, posture, and wand movement each time. Harry had to remind himself that Cedric was doing him a favor and hexing the boy would probably be seen as ungrateful.

However, even he could see the improvement he had made by the time Cedric said that they would be moving on to the next spell. His shield's wavering had diminished to being nearly imperceptible, the area it covered had grown, and Harry could keep it almost indefinitely (until Cedric started flinging hexes at it to see how well it stood up to spellfire).

Cedric seemed to take a perverse delight in pointing out Harry's flaws and creating challenges for him. One time he made Harry hold the shield up while reciting the alphabet backward. Another time he made Harry try to adjust the size of the shield to match various objects that he conjured up and threw at him. They were tests of flexibility and control, Harry knew, and they would be invaluable for mastering the spell, but that didn't make them any more enjoyable to perform. And Harry thought that Cedric was almost hoping that he would fail, especially when he decided to start throwing fruit, some of it blown up to grotesque proportions, at his shield. After a tomato the size of a bludger splattered against his shield Harry announced that he had had enough of that particular exercise. Cedric made a disappointed noise.

They took a break after practicing the Shield Charm and Cedric asked Harry questions about his life. They never began invasive though, and Harry appreciated Cedric's tact.

"So you've never seen a professional quidditch match live before?" he asked incredulously.

"Never really had the chance," Harry said. "I'd love to though. It's sounds like fun and I bet I could learn a lot from watching the pros in action."

"You better believe it. None of the stuff I do in quidditch matches here is original. I stole all of my moves from the great seekers I've seen play. Pretty impressive that everything you do is instinct. I suppose I should just be glad you aren't a Hufflepuff. You would've had my spot your second year, best case scenario."

"Worst case scenario, you mean," Harry said with a cheeky smile. Cedric just laughed, unselfconsciously.

"I bet you could see a game this summer," Cedric said. "A bunch of us on the Hufflepuff team get together and go to see Puddlemore United and England play when we can. I'm sure nobody would mind if we brought you along, though they may not like making the competition even better."

"Yeah, maybe," Harry said. He wasn't sure that he was too keen on spending that much time with the Hufflepuff team. They seemed nice enough, but he didn't know Cedric that well, and he didn't know the others at all.

Cedric seemed to anticipate what Harry was thinking. He just smiled and said, "If you want to come see a game just tell me, or write me. It's not a big deal. My dad gets tickets to a lot of games from people trying to bribe a ministry official."

"Your dad takes bribes?" Harry asked, astonished that Cedric would admit something like that.

"It's a bit of a time honored tradition to take bribes. Doesn't change any of his decisions but he likes seeing quidditch matches so he never says no. Suppose they figure one of these days it'll swing him around to their side."

"What does your dad do, exactly?" Harry asked.

Works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," Cedric said. "Importation of dragons, sphinxes, trolls, and the like."

Harry gaped at the idea of people trying to bribe a ministry official to bring dragons into the country. Cedric, for once, didn't seem to follow Harry's line of thought.

"Anyway, you did pretty well with the Shield Charm," Cedric said. "Figured we would move on to the Hurling Hex next. It's not all that useful in a high level duel from what I've seen but it's a good jumping point for learning harder dueling spells."

"Jumping point?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. Like how in transfiguration you start simple, with a needle, and progressively perform harder transfigurations. The better you are with simpler dueling spells, and the more you know, the easier it'll be to pick up new ones. I bet Dumbledore could learn pretty much any spell he wanted in an hour or so. If there are any spells Dumbledore doesn't know. It's all about your base, my dad always says."

"Where do you learn all this stuff?" Harry asked. He knew he sounded petulant but it was frustrating seeing the gulf not only in skill, but in knowledge, between the two of them.

"Here and there. Mostly I read books and I listen in class," Cedric said dryly. Harry blushed. Hermione did most of the reading and listening for him. It was the time honored division of labor in their group; Hermione took notes, Ron complained, and Harry arbitrated when the two of them unavoidably clashed. He supposed that their way might not be the most efficient, or conducive to actual learning.

"Any books to recommend?" Harry asked.

"These aren't enough for you?" Cedric gestured to the pile of spell books that Lupin had picked out for Harry.

"Those aren't really books you sit down and read. They're more…reference books," Harry said.

Cedric looked at the books, a speculative gleam in his eyes. "Yeah, I think I could give you a few recommendations. If you're serious about it." He looked like he was on the verge of bursting out laughing, and Harry had a sudden premonition that he should've asked someone who was a less insane teacher than Cedric.

"After all, excellence requires commitment," Cedric said.

Harry groaned.

Pretending that he didn't hear him, Cedric said, "Now, on to the Hurling Hex."

* * *

Christmas was on Thursday but Harry had no time to look forward to presents with the way he was being worked by Lupin and Cedric. He had nearly mastered the Hurling Hex in his first session with Cedric and the older boy was so overjoyed at his progress that he had arranged sessions for every remaining day of the break, including Christmas.

Normally, Harry would have resented the breakneck pace of the training Cedric was putting him through. Combined with his meetings with Lupin, Harry was spending most of his time reading, practicing spells, and getting drilled on the basics of dueling. It was grueling and a lot of the preparatory work was boring. The basics of anything is boring, Cedric assured him, but that didn't make spending his entire holiday learning any more fun. However, despite how he normally would have reacted to be pushed so hard, Harry had something to focus on whenever his determination wavered.

Whenever his attention flagged or he started wanting to spend his time doing something else Harry would deliberately recall the sound of a woman screaming and Black's name being chanted repeatedly, as if by some hellish choir, in his mind. The dementors were evil, but they gave Harry the tools he needed to motivate himself. Harry never let himself forget, for even a moment, that Black was the one who had betrayed his family, betrayed him and every chance he ever had to have a real family. There was purpose in his training. A purpose that would lead to compensation for the wrongs Black had done to him.

If Ron or Hermione had been there they would have tried to take his mind off of things. They probably would have even succeeded, Harry thought. But Cedric and Lupin were the only ones to relieve Harry from his solitude, and they were both helping him to bring Black to justice, even if they didn't know it. It was the difference between companionship for its own sake, and companionship in the pursuit of some greater end. The one was more comforting than the other.

Cedric had been so kind as to deliver an armful of books from the library to Harry. _The Principles of Magical Maturation, Art and Guile in Dueling,_ and _The Application of Non-Offensive Magic in Dueling_ were just the first of what Cedric promised would be a string of important texts. Some, such as _Art and Guile in Dueling_ , were manageable texts, only about two hundred pages. The others were tombs that, if thrown properly, could brain someone.

Harry committed to spending all of his time reading when he wasn't working with Lupin or Cedric. He would have taken to bringing books to meals with him but Cedric started sitting with him, striking up conversations about everything from quidditch to the history of great duelists in England to stories about their classmates (which ranged from the humorous to the disturbing).

"…and so Wayne had three elephant trunks on his face, two growing out of his ears and one out of his nose. None of us ever teased her again after that."

"What kind of spell can even do that?" Harry asked. Cedric just shrugged and took another bite of his sausage.

Harry noticed that as he spent more time working on spells with Cedric and Lupin he was able to apply some of the same principles from the previous spells he had learned to the next spells. It was the most intensive period of learning he had ever had (Cedric said he had to wait until O.W.L.s until he could complain) and the lack of any lag time in between learning a new spell made the overlapping principles even more obvious.

The theory he was learning helped too. _The Principles of Magical Maturation_ outlined the specific requirements of different classes of spells; they ranged from magical power demands, visualization, emotion, location, wand movement, and even tonal vocalization. A particular spell that emitted a loud sound wave had to be screamed as loud as possible in order to even work. Harry had never even dreamed that so many different requirements went into different spells. He realized exactly how simplified the Hogwarts curriculum was for the first few years, teaching the absolute basics before weeding out the students that wouldn't be able to progress any farther and teaching the advanced magic in the post-O.W.L.S. years.

Harry didn't spend all of his time working. One morning he had been getting breakfast, mentally tallying up the things he had to do before his meeting with Cedric, when the Hufflepuff appeared with a gaping smile and two brooms in his hand. They were old Cleansweeps that the school owned.

"Thought you might fancy a run-out," Cedric said.

"Bloody right I would," Harry said. The sight of broomsticks made him realize how much he longed to be in the sky, forgetting his troubles with a rush of speed and wind.

"I'll be sure to show you a few moves, make up for your deplorable lack of training," Cedric said.

"Hey, Wood's a great captain," Harry said, defensive. Cedric was obviously kidding but Harry was fond of Wood. He was quidditch crazy and a harsh leader, but he had given Harry his chance and never gave any less than everything he could.

"Sure, but he's not a seeker," Cedric said, his smile never fading. He was never put off by Harry's responses. Harry supposed that was what contributed to the comfort he felt around Cedric. The other boy didn't seem to judge.

The kick-off wasn't as smooth as it would've been with his Nimbus, but it was better than being landlocked, Harry thought. Cedric seemed more comfortable on the school broom. Somehow Cedric had procured a snitch, which was struggling valiantly in his hand.

"Give it five seconds, and then try to catch it," Cedric shouted. Harry nodded, the snitch flew off, and Cedric shot off after it four seconds later.

"Cheater," Harry yelled as he pushed his broom to its maximum speed.

"Disqualify me then," Cedric shouted back. He was closer to the snitch, the gold standing out against the cloudless blue sky, but Harry was much lighter, being the ideal build for a seeker.

Soon they were flying side-by-side, and Cedric started turning his broom slightly into Harry's, trying to nudge him out of the way. Harry tried to push back for a few moments but realized that Cedric was too strong for him ever to win like that. He started giving way, letting Cedric think he was getting the upper hand, then decelerated. The sudden change in speed surprised Cedric, and the absence of a body to push against made his broom twist suddenly to the right, throwing off his pursuit of the snitch.

Laughing, Harry lanced after the snitch. Cedric tried to catch up but wasn't fast enough. By the time Cedric caught up Harry was floating stationary in the center of the pitch, snitch squirming in his hands.

"Show me some moves, huh?"

"You kidding?" Cedric said, unperturbed. "That was just a warmup round. Best out of three."

Harry threw the snitch. "You're on," he said.

Best out of three became best out of seven, then thirteen. Harry was beating Cedric to the snitch most times, his superior speed providing an edge that Cedric couldn't match.

"It's situations like this that make me wish I had a pet dementor," Cedric grumbled, the snitch in Harry's hand once again.

"That does seem like the only way for you to win," Harry said, his tone agreeable. Cedric glared at him. Harry had a feeling that he would be paying for that comment in a 'teaching' duel with Cedric later.

"Just wait. Hufflepuff has been cooking up some serious strategies. Quidditch isn't a one-on-one game. It's all about teamwork, and Hufflepuff has that in spades."

"If that helps you sleep at night," Harry said dismissively.

He didn't hear what Cedric said in response, but it sounded like a mumbled curse.

"What time is it," Harry asked, noticing the sun beginning to set behind one of the goalposts.

Cedric pulled out his wand, muttered a spell, and smoke wrapped itself into numbers that Harry couldn't quite make out. "Quarter to six."

"I'm late," Harry groaned, nosing his broom at the ground. Cedric followed.

"Late to what?" Cedric asked.

Harry felt guilty. After a while he had resolved to tell Cedric about his lessons with Lupin but it always felt like he had been cheating him, getting private lessons from Lupin and Cedric and Cedric getting nothing in return.

"Professor Lupin has been helping me out with some spells. The Patronus Charm, mainly," Harry said.

Cedric nodded, as if Harry wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know. "That explains where you got those books from. They seemed the type that a third year wouldn't know about. Makes more sense if Professor Lupin gave them to you."

Despite Cedric's unconcern Harry couldn't help but feel guilty. "I should've told you."

"It would've been nice to know," Cedric said. "But you don't owe me anything. You're not obligated to tell me all your secrets because I gave you a few tips about spells."

"Alright," Harry said, unconvinced. "But I still feel bad. I'll make it up to you."

Cedric waved a hand, nonchalant. "If it makes you feel better."

Harry had to run to Lupin's office, showing up a few minutes late, but Lupin didn't seem to notice. He was much more interested in Harry's progress in learning the two spells than his tardiness. Lupin seemed as impressed with Harry's development as Harry was. After Harry successfully demonstrated the Shield Charm and Hurling Hex, Lupin said, "I was expecting to have to tutor you in both of those spells. They're the basics any duelist needs to have down perfectly. I'm impressed, Harry."

"I've been getting help, professor," Harry admitted. "Cedric helped me out with those spells. He's a pretty good teacher," he added.

"I suppose I should start worrying about my job security then," Lupin said, smiling. His teeth were rather canine, Harry noticed. He wondered if it was a birth defect or if Lupin had been subjected to a curse gone wrong at some point.

"Let's see how well your patronus has improved then. Have you looked back at the book I gave you?" Lupin asked.

"I reread it. It made more sense the second time around," Harry said.

"I thought it would. 'A student will find that his mental constitution is more affected by one book thoroughly mastered than by twenty books he has merely skimmed.'" Lupin said this as if imparting a great wisdom.

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

"Am I to assume that what happened last time was an anomaly?" Lupin asked.

"It won't happen again," Harry said. Lupin looked satisfied, relieved even, by his answer. He took his place in front of the cabinet and, at Harry's signal, opened it.

The dementor floated; its menace and aura of fear cloaked it. It was weaker than it had been last time but Harry could feel the drumbeat of fear starting its pounding again, weaker than before, but present.

Harry didn't wait for the dementor to advance. " _Expecto Patronum_ ," he said. He focused his entire mind on one memory; Hagrid telling him he was a wizard. The thought that he could leave the Dursleys, that he wasn't a freak, that his life meant something more than he could have ever dreamt.

A silvery thread leashed from his wand, growing and forming into a rough concentric circle in front of him. It was struggling against itself, as if trying to find a shape, a form of its own.

The dementor approached, but slower than it had before, wary. In the back of his mind Harry noticed that the boggart seemed frightened of something a dementor would be afraid of, an adoption of principles along with the transformation perhaps.

" _Expecto Patronum_ ," Harry said again, his mind never wavering from his memory, Hagrid's cheerful face filling his mind until it almost seemed as if he were there again, living the best day of his life all over again.

No shape emerged from the silver mass, but it pushed, expanding outward, growing in size, as if an angry flood suddenly unleashed. It jumped at the dementor, pushing away the rough drumming in Harry's head, and the dementor stumbled backwards, back into the cabinet. Lupin shut the doors on it with a resounding thump. The silver of the patronus floated to the floor where it dissipated, leaving Harry feeling somewhat colder than he had been. His memory floated away with the spell, but Harry knew it was still there, waiting to be called upon again.

"Excellent work, Harry," Lupin said, beaming. "Truly remarkable. I hadn't expected to see that level of a patronus charm for months. In fact, that was the best I had thought you would be able to accomplish at your age. Remarkable."

Somewhat elated from his victory, Harry said, "Just some hard work and a bit of reading, professor." Lupin laughed but the look he gave Harry wasn't truly a happy one; it was the look of a man lost in memories that were beautiful and painful.

Lupin snapped out of it. "We'll keep meeting. The day after Christmas, if that works for you. I'm sure you can have the charm mastered in a matter of weeks if we keep working at it. In the meantime, why don't you work on the Incarcerous Spell and the Reductor Curse. The Incarcerous Spell shouldn't give you too much trouble but learning your first curse is always difficult. It's a brand new area of magic, a land never before explored. Cedric may be able to give you some pointers, if he's willing, but ultimately it'll come down to you."

"Can we go again, professor?" Harry asked, his wand twitching in his grip. He thought he could feel the patronus, charging up inside him, just waiting to be let out.

"Not today, I think. One should never empty their well of eagerness. Waiting will give you something to look forward to next time."

Harry was disappointed but even the refusal couldn't bring him down completely. He felt free and happy, airy, like he could walk on water. The thoughts of Black that had been plaguing him, recurring even in his dreams, were washed away as so much silt in a storm.

Before he turned to leave, Harry said, "Thanks for helping me, professor."

Lupin looked at him, some indefinable emotion in his eyes. "I could do nothing less, Harry."

* * *

"I don't know why you assumed that I have some problem with you getting extra lessons from Lupin," Cedric said. "I would do the same thing in your place. You're being hunted by the most dangerous man in the British Isles. Of course you should take advantage of all the people willing to help you."

"Thanks, Cedric, you always know how to make me feel better," Harry said, sarcasm dripping.

Cedric gave him an enormous fake smile. "What kind of friend would I be if I didn't remind you of the mass murderer trying to kill you at every opportunity?"

"An empathetic, comforting one," Harry quipped.

"A boring one," Cedric said. Harry sighed and decided not to press the point.

"Anyway, I hope you didn't hunt me down just to tell me that," Cedric said. He was right; Harry had more than that to tell the boy. It hadn't been easy tracking him down, especially with how empty Hogwarts was, but eventually Harry had found him perusing the section on inorganic to organic transfiguration in the library.

"Not even close. I've got something to show you. Something I think you'll like," Harry said, not able to keep a teasing note out of his voice.

He piqued Cedric's interest. "What is it?"

"I have to show you. I didn't bring it with me," Harry said.

"Why not?" Cedric asked.

"It's too valuable to be carrying around the school while I was looking for you. I left it in my dorm."

"Well, go get it," Cedric said, exasperated. "And it had better be good for how much you're building this up. If it isn't a Firebolt I'm going to be seriously disappointed."

Harry just winked, and, ignoring Cedric's cries from behind him, he ran back to Gryffindor Tower and grabbed the rewrapped broomstick, carrying it back to the library as quickly as he was able.

Cedric was waiting by the conglomeration of tables near the front of the library, pacing back and forth. Harry walked up to him and set the package on the table with reverent care. Cedric just stared at it gaping.

"It can't be," Cedric said. "There's no way. Not a chance."

"Believe it," Harry said. Reaching out a hand, he slowly, cautiously, unwrapped the package. The thin brown paper fell away to reveal a gleaming handle, and then a well-coifed broom end, and then, emblazoned in gilt on the top of the broomstick, the word 'Firebolt.'

"It's amazing," Cedric said. "Like a handcrafted gift from the quidditch gods."

Harry said nothing, just marveled at the broomstick. The rest of his Christmas presents lay strewn about his room up in Gryffindor Tower, forgotten, dwarfed by the sheer magnificence of the Firebolt.

"Who gave this to you?" Cedric asked, not quite running his hand along the length of the broom.

"No idea. They didn't send a note," Harry said.

Cedric drew his hand back, as if worried that it would catch on fire. "You don't know who sent you a Firebolt?"

"No," Harry said, nervous at Cedric's reaction.

"And that didn't seem suspicious to you? Do you know how much these things cost? Most people can't afford one on six months' salary. People don't make anonymous gifts of Firebolts."

Wand out, Cedric repaired the wrapping around the Firebolt with great care, making sure none of the broom was exposed. When he was satisfied that it was completely wrapped he conjured thick gloves for himself, put them on, and then grabbed the broom in one hand.

"What are you doing?" Harry cried.

"Harry, if getting an enormously expensive gift anonymously for Christmas while a mass murderer is out to get you didn't alarm you then I'm not sure there's any chance of you reaching middle-age," Cedric said.

Harry flushed. "You think it's cursed."

"I think there's almost no chance that it isn't cursed," Cedric said. "We'd be idiots not to take it to someone and find out."

Frustrated as he was at having the broom taken away from him, Harry figured that Cedric was right. Cedric had never displayed any signs of panic before; he was perpetually calm and personable, so for him to have such a strong reaction to the broom made Harry nervous as well. It wouldn't do for him to nearly get killed by flying a cursed broom. Ron would never let him hear the end of it.

It would be so nice just to ride it though, Harry thought, looking longingly at the broom. The finest broom ever made; each one was individually hand-crafted and made out of the finest materials. It was every quidditch player's dream to have one. And Harry had come so close, it was there, if only he had reached out and taken it. He almost wished he had taken out the broom, just for one flight, before he had showed it to Cedric. Harry knew it would have been a bad idea but ever since his Nimbus had been destroyed it was if there was a part of him that went unfulfilled, a passion stolen away, and the Firebolt would have been the perfect solution to that.

"McGonagall then?" Harry asked.

"Or Flitwick. I love Sprout but she's not exactly an expert on curses. Snape is, but the less time I have to spend with that man the better." Cedric gave an exaggerated shudder.

"We'll wait until lunch and give it to her then," Harry said.

Cedric hesitated, then nodded. He seemed eager to be rid of the broom. Harry supposed that it was a natural aversion Purebloods had, growing up in a culture that constantly warned them about cursed objects. He wondered if Ron would've had the same reaction.

"Now, are you going to tell me what you're doing in a library on Christmas morning?" Harry asked.

"Greatness waits for no man, Potter."

"I should introduce you to my friend, Hermione. I think you two would hit it off. Neither of you have any sense of proportion when it comes to books."

Cedric punched him on the shoulder. "Just because you can't read doesn't give you permission to mock the rest of us."

The two of them made companionable conversation as they walked to the Great Hall. Harry felt himself becoming less upset that he would have to give up the Firebolt. Cedric's company made up for the fleeting disappointment.


	2. Chapter 2

"Now the Blasting Curse," Lupin instructed.

Harry aimed at the dummy set up at the back of the classroom and said, " _Confringo_." A spiraling orange spell lazed toward the dummy and exploded, leaving the area around it blackened. The dummy looked the worse for wear, singed and torn in places, but it was still intact. Harry raised an eyebrow at Lupin.

"They're designed to withstand almost anything you can throw at them," Lupin said. "Now finish off with the Severing Curse."

Hissing the incantation, Harry cut his wand in a wide diagonal sweep. A scythe of blue magic issued forth and split the dummy from shoulder to hip, not cutting all the way through, but enough that Harry figured it would be lethal on a human.

Lupin examined the results of the spell. "I know that I don't have to warn you about using such magic without supervision. The Blasting and Severing Curses are both powerful magic. They're considered dark magic by some because of their lethality. I taught them to you because the situation requires it. If you betray that trust, no matter how extenuating the circumstances, there will be consequences. Nobody else can know that you can perform these spells."

"Nobody?" Harry asked, disappointed. Cedric was curious about the spells Harry was learning with Lupin for the past two weeks. Harry hadn't showed him yet because he wanted to be sure that he had them down perfectly before he demonstrated how far he had gotten.

"Nobody. Not even Professor McGonagall, Ron, or Hermione. This is serious magic, far beyond what someone your age should know. It's dangerous. And part of the advantage you would have coming up against a superior, older foe, is that they are likely to underestimate you. The less people that know about your capabilities the safer, and the more dangerous, you are."

It made sense to Harry and he nodded at Lupin.

"Is there anything else I can try with the Patronus Charm, professor?" Harry asked.

"If there is I don't know it," Lupin said. "Patience is your best ally now. You'll overcome this block."

Harry grimaced. He had been trying to perfect his patronus every time he and Lupin met but so far the best he could do was the mist that he had produced during his third lesson. There had been no improvement since then. The memory was just as strong as ever, the theoretical components of the spell mastered; Harry just wasn't able to produce a full patronus.

"It may be that you just don't have enough experience with advanced magic to cast the Patronus Charm correctly," Lupin said. "There are components to magic that no one understands fully, the relationship between the castor and the spell is one of them."

"That's not exactly reassuring," Harry said.

"No, but it is a good reminder that one should always have humility and patience when dealing with powerful magic. It always has the ability to surprise you."

Harry went over to the dummy and fit his finger into the line he had cut on its torso. Stuffing fell out onto the floor.

"We won't be able to meet every couple of days like we have been once classes resume," Lupin said. "I suspect we'll both be too busy for that. Once a week sounds more reasonable. We'll focus on the Patronus Charm. That's clearly our most pressing concern."

Harry agreed with Lupin. He knew enough spells by the end of the holidays that he was more confident in his ability to defend himself. None of the spells were mastered yet. His Shield Charm still broke under pressure from Cedric, his Blasting Curse didn't have half the radius or power that Lupin's did, and the ropes from his Incarcerous Spell vanished after only a few minutes. The basics were there though, and Harry would be able to continue to work on the spells through the rest of the year, even if he wouldn't have as much time as he did before.

"Any plans for your last day before your friends come back?" Lupin asked.

It was mid-afternoon. Harry had already met with Cedric earlier, and the two of them had worked on Harry's speed at transfiguration. Cedric insisted that quick, flawless transfiguration was one of the greatest assets a duelist could have. He told Harry that Dumbledore was considered the greatest transfigurist alive, and it was part of what made him such a formidable opponent.

"I think I'm going to visit Hagrid," Harry said.

Lupin smiled. "Excellent, I know he's been upset about the Buckbeak situation. A visit could help to cheer him up."

Feeling guilty, Harry nodded. He hadn't given much thought to Buckbeak since he had slashed at Malfoy. Harry bid Lupin goodbye and made his way to Hagrid's hut.

He passed a few younger Hufflepuffs on the way and they said hello to him, seeming quite cheerful. He responded in kind. The Hufflepuffs still in the castle had been even friendlier than usual since he had befriended Cedric, Harry thought. He supposed that Cedric was almost idolized in his house, so it would make sense that some of that goodwill would rub off on Cedric's friends.

Since Harry's Firebolt had been handed over to McGonagall he and Cedric had gone flying a few more times, always on the school brooms. Harry thought that Cedric was trying to make up for being the one to convince Harry to turn the broom in by flying with him as much as possible. He didn't resent Cedric for making him turn the broom in, but flying on a rickety school broom didn't make him feel better, especially since he had some idea of what he was missing out on.

The path down to Hagrid's hut was clear of snow. The surrounding banks were over two feet high, snow always threatening to collapse onto the path but never seeming to do so. Harry had never seen anyone clearing a path before. He supposed that Hogwarts took care of the little things herself.

The roof of the hut had enough snow on it that Harry wondered how it hadn't caved in. A concentric circle had been cleared of snow around the hut. Buckbeak was gnawing on something out of a tub behind the hut, ignoring Harry's approach. Harry rapped on the door.

Barking came from inside and Harry could hear Hagrid yelling at Fang to get out of the way.

"Harry!" Hagrid said, pulling him in for a brutal hug. "Good ter see yeh."

"Good to see you too, Hagrid," Harry said, his voice muffled by Hagrid's coat. There was a foul smell wafting up from one of the coat's many pockets. Probably something for Buckbeak to munch on. Harry tried to edge his face as far away from the pocket as possible without it being obvious.

"What can I do for yeh?" Hagrid asked. He pulled a plate or rock cakes from a corner of the kitchen and set it down on the kitchen table, gesturing for Harry to have a seat.

"Just wanted to see how you were doing," Harry said. Hagrid pushed the plate of rock cakes toward him and Harry raised up a hand, apologetically. Hagrid shrugged and bit into one. Harry could hear it crunching in his mouth (or just crunching his mouth, Harry thought).

"I'm great…great," Hagrid said absently. Then he seemed to focus, glancing at Harry. "Saw your fall though, in the quidditch match. Hope yer alright. Rotten luck that was. These dementors are a menace. Fang'll hardly leave the house now. I'm not exactly a fan meself."

"I'm fine," Harry said. "Professor Lupin's actually teaching me the Patronus Charm so that I can fight back against the dementors. That way nothing like that will ever happen again."

"Great, great," Hagrid said. "Good man, Professor Lupin. Knew 'im when he was a student 'ere. Good friend of yer parents, as a matter 'o fact." Hagrid took another rock cake and munched on it.

"A friend of my parents?" Harry asked.

"'Course. Thick as thieves he was with yer dad. Couldn't pry that group of boys apart. A right nuisance they were. The professor was always the good one though, very respectful. Still is."

"He never told me," Harry said. It made sense to him then. Why Lupin was willing to spend so much time helping him, willing to teach him magic that no other teacher would be willing to teach him. It wasn't because of anything Harry had done, or a sense of responsibility as a professor, but out of loyalty to his parents.

"I 'spect there're some picture of 'im in the book I gave ye, yer first year. He'd be young then, harder to recognize. Hasn't aged very well, Professor Lupin."

Harry did remember seeing someone that resembled Lupin in the photo album Hagrid had given him. His face was fuller, hair thicker, and he wasn't so creased with lines, but it was him. Harry had looked over the photos so many times that he could call any of them to mind almost instantly. He was shocked that he had never recognized him before.

"Thick as thieves they were, those boys. Pranksters. Had some name for 'emselves. Can't remember what it was…" Hagrid trailed off, looking lost in thought.

"There would be a picture of them in the book though, right?" Harry asked, curiosity burning away at him. He wondered if there were more friends of his parents, people that could tell him about them; people that had grown up with them. He thought of his parents at his age, running around Hogwarts with their friends. He wondered what they would have been like. Whether he would have been friends with them or even liked them.

"I 'spect so, yeah," Hagrid said. "Anyway, this whole dementor business'll clear up soon enough. Then things'll go back to normal and me and Fang'll be able to go 'bout our business as usual. And ye won't have to worry 'bout them during quidditch matches." Hagrid chuckled, as if he had said something funny.

Harry didn't laugh with him, barely paying attention. His mind was still on the photo album and his parents. But he was never able to think of his parents anymore without his mind turning inexorably, even unwillingly, to Black. The man had taken his parents from him and then his mere existence poisoned Harry's thoughts of them. Harry couldn't have one without the other. Trying to picture his parents dancing together at their wedding, one of Harry's favorite photos of them, only brought to mind Black's screaming face in the newspapers. The stinging hatred, always waiting beneath the surface, reared its head.

"Hagrid," Harry said, his eyes wild, hands tight on the table. "Do you think it would be alright to do something bad to someone, if they deserved it? If they had done something so bad that nothing anyone could to do them would ever be as awful as what they had done."

Hagrid tugged on his beard. He didn't seem comfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. He tended to leave the philosophizing to other people.

"Well, I don't rightly know, Harry. Suppose it'd depend. On what they did," he clarified. "Dumbledore always says nobody's beyond savin'. Great man, Dumbledore."

"I think some people are. Beyond saving. Or even if they aren't, they don't deserve saving. Just because of how evil they are."

"Like You-Know-Who?" Hagrid seemed frightened at the mere thought of him.

Harry settled back in his chair and forced himself to relax. "Like You-Know-Who." He twisted his wand, back and forth, back and forth; Black's screaming face was mocking him in his mind.

* * *

The photo album was at the bottom of Harry's trunk. He had to remove everything else in his trunk to get to it.

It took him some time to find the picture Hagrid had referenced. It was a thick book, and there were hundreds of pictures inside. Harry went through each one with care to ensure that he didn't miss what he was looking for.

Near the middle of the book a large photo with four boys, a little older than Harry, dominated a page. They were standing just outside the reach of the Womping Willow, looking back every now and then to mock the tree that was ineffectually swinging at them.

On the left was Lupin. The resemblance of his younger self to how he looked now was obvious when you knew what you were looking for, Harry thought. Next to Lupin was someone Harry didn't recognize, a shorter boy with chubby cheeks and messy brown hair. Where Lupin was placid, an unfading smile on his face, the boy next to him seemed twitchy, constantly looking around at his friends, as if afraid that they were going to disappear.

James Potter was standing next to the unknown boy. He was laughing and ribbing the boys next to him, as if he had just told a joke he found extraordinarily amusing. The confidence that Harry had always noticed in his father's pictures was on display.

But it wasn't his father that drew Harry's attention. Standing next to James Potter, a smug smile on his face, was Sirius Black.

* * *

The Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade. Students departed the train in packs, beginning the trek back up to Hogwarts. Harry waited, hands in his pockets, shivering, for Hermione and Ron. Cedric was standing next to him. He didn't seem fazed by the cold.

"How are you not cold?" Harry asked. A cloud of condensation floated away. He snapped his mouth shut, the cold biting even there.

"Heating Charm," Cedric said. "Keeps you warm in almost any temperature."

"And you didn't think to offer me one?" Harry asked. If his caustic tone nettled Cedric he didn't show it.

"I thought about casting one on you. Then I realized, this would be excellent motivation for you to learn the Heating Charm yourself. Say...Wednesday of next week."

"That's very Slytherin of you," Harry said. "Keeping me coming back by keeping the best spells for yourself."

"I think it's very Hufflepuff, loyally offering to teach an underprivileged peer spells they would never learn on your own."

"I could just find it in a book."

"Sure, but then you'd have to find someone to read it for you," Cedric said.

"I know how to read!" Harry was all but shouting and people were turning their heads to look at him.

Cedric just gave him a bland smile. "Course you can."

Harry decided to ignore Cedric. He saw red hair bumbling down the steps of the Hogwarts Express and a smile began creeping over his face. Hermione came down after Ron, prim where he had all but tripped over his own feet.

Ron saw him first, giving Harry an exuberant wave. He slouched over to Harry, Hermione following close behind, looking as he she could barely contain her excitement.

Hermione cut around Ron at the last moment, giving Harry a tight hug.

"Still in one piece, then," she said.

"Think so," Harry said. Hermione let go of him.

Cedric chose that moment to introduce himself. "Cedric Diggory," he said, holding out a hand to Ron, who didn't look as if he had noticed Cedric standing there until that moment.

Ron recovered and took the extended hand. "Ron Weasley."

"I'm Hermione Granger." Hermione shook Cedric's hand, ignoring Ron's snickering and Harry's smile.

"Nice to meet both of you. Harry was nice enough to keep me busy over the holidays and he wouldn't shut up about either of you." Cedric looked up. "I see some of my friends over there so I've got to run." He turned to Harry. "Wednesday. After dinner. Be there." Then he walked away, off to rejoin his friends.

Hermione turned to Harry, one eyebrow raised. Ron was less circumspect. "What the bloody hell was that?"

"I never really know," Harry said. From the looks Ron and Hermione were giving him he figured that didn't qualify as a satisfactory answer.

"He was bored, I was bored, we hung out. It's not a big deal. You know you two are always first in my heart," Harry said, one hand over his heart. He adopted the most heartbroken expression he could.

"Whatever," Ron said, losing interest. Hermione didn't seem satisfied, but, Harry reflected, she rarely was. The three of them started toward Hogwarts.

"How were your breaks?" Harry asked.

That got Hermione started. He almost regretted asking. She told him about her time at home, and the trips to muggle bookstores, and her family visiting for Christmas, and her parents embarrassing her in front of her family by talking about how well she was doing in school, and how they took a few days off in Paris together, and how she had convinced them to go into Paris' equivalent of Diagon Alley, and how she had explored the bookstore there, and how she decided to learn French.

Ron was tuning her out. He had clearly heard it on the way back to school. "How about you?" Harry asked him, cutting Hermione off mid-diatribe about language conversion spells. Hermione had the decency to blush.

"Brilliant," Ron said. "Charlie showed us around the dragon preserve. We got to see some of them up close. They're terrifying. Brilliant, but terrifying. There was one, a Hungarian Horntail, that nearly took out half a dozen handlers. It was like a flying, spiked, bludger. That breathes fire," Ron added, almost as an afterthought.

"Fred and George almost convinced Ginny that one of the dragons was actually friendly. She was about to go into the pen, to pet it, when mum found out. She went mental on Fred and George. Honestly, they were lucky they didn't get stuck back at the camp for the rest of the holiday. I think we were all just surprised that Ginny almost fell for it. Guess girls just want to think everything's really nice and fluffy and pink."

Hermione flicked Ron on the forehead. He grumbled but seemed to accept it as deserved. Harry basked in having his friends back. Cedric was great, but he'd been through a lot with Hermione and Ron. They weren't really replaceable.

"What about you, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"I got a Firebolt," Harry said, glumly.

Ron gaped at him. "You got a Firebolt? And you're sad?"

"I turned it in to McGonagall," Harry said.

"Why?" Ron exclaimed.

"You must have thought it was cursed," Hermione said.

Harry nodded. "It didn't come with a note or anything. Nobody said they were the one to send it to me and it's not as if a Firebolt is cheap. I gave it to McGonagall to make sure it wasn't cursed."

"And you didn't take it out for just one quick run? Just a few seconds? A Firebolt, Harry!"

Hermione looked as if she wanted to smack Ron. "Sirius Black is on the loose, Ron. And we have no idea who sent it to Harry. He'd have to be an idiot to fly it without at least making sure it wasn't cursed."

"Oi, who are you calling an idiot," Ron said. Harry sighed. Having his friends back wasn't ever all good. The bickering he could do without.

"It doesn't matter," Harry interrupted, before Hermione could say anything more. "The Firebolt is with McGonagall and if it's cursed she'll destroy it or, if she can, lift the curse. If it isn't cursed I should have it back in time for the next quidditch match."

"That'd be something to see. You on a Firebolt, taking it to the Ravenclaws," Ron said, gleeful at the prospect. Harry shrugged. Ron's excitement wasn't helping him to get over the loss of the Firebolt. If anything, it made the sting keener.

"I hope you weren't dreadfully bored," Hermione said. Ron nodded in agreement.

"I managed to keep myself busy," Harry said, smiling.

They passed through Hogsmeade and Ron stared at the Three Broomsticks. His mouth was open and Harry was worried he would start drooling. Hermione noticed as well. She looked at Harry and rolled her eyes.

"I'd love to stop for some butterbeer," Ron said.

"Snape would just love if we were late to the welcome back feast," Harry said. The idea of Snape lurking over him, delighting in taking points and assigning detention, seemed to take Ron's mind off of butterbeer.

"Ron just wants to go in there so he can keep staring at Madam Rosmerta," Hermione said. Harry could tell she was kidding but Ron flushed an unattractive shade of puce that clashed with his hair. It gave his face a disconcerting appearance.

"I just like their butterbeer," Ron said. "It's not like we're going to go to the Hog's Head. I'd prefer not to puke my guts out after I drink a butterbeer. Fred and George told me that place is run by a lunatic. The butterbeer is homemade with who-knows-what ingredients and he doesn't even clean his glasses. Vampires go there!"

Harry had to restrain himself from pointing out that Fred and George weren't exactly reliable sources. Ron had, after all, just told a story in which they tried to convince Ginny to pet a dragon.

"Guess we can't stop," Ron said, thoughts of Madam Rosmerta replaced with butterbeer. Then he perked up and said, "But Harry, since you have the cloak and the map you can come to the next Hogsmeade weekend with us! Nobody will even know you're there." He paused. "Except Fred and George. They'll probably figure that you're there."

Harry was shaking his head before Ron even finished. "It's not a good idea, Ron," he said. "Professor Lupin told me that there's news that Sirius Black is in the area. It's too dangerous to wander around Hogsmeade."

"Oh," Ron said, disappointed. "Guess we'll have to go without you then."

Lupin had said nothing about Black, but Harry figured he was justified in lying to Ron. The last thing Harry wanted was to be ambushed by Black. He would prefer to be the one doing the ambushing. The cloak wasn't perfect, especially during the winter. Tracks gave him away too easily. But there was no way Ron would have dropped it unless Harry raised the specter of immediate danger. Ron was, Harry reflected, the perfect Gryffindor.

From the look that Hermione was giving him, Harry figured that she saw through his flimsy pretext. He knew she agreed with him though. Hermione wasn't the type to condone Harry going around Hogsmeade while there was a killer on the loose, hunting him down. Ron remained oblivious to the subverbal interaction between Harry and Hermione. He began chattering about the Chudley Cannons' latest loss and how he would turn things around if he were their manager. Harry made all of the appropriate responses. Hermione was free to tune Ron out.

The aimless conversation about quidditch continued until they were in their seats. Harry greeted the other Gryffindors, happy that the table was full again, and the hall quieted for Dumbledore's welcome back speech. It was short and then they were free to dig in to their meal.

Before Dumbledore sat down again he made brief eye contact with Harry, who gave Dumbledore a nod and a small smile. Dumbledore smiled back, and, apparently satisfied, sat down.

"Pass the chicken, Harry," Ron said, his mouth full of potato. Hermione watched him, an expression of the utmost disgust on her face.

Yes, Harry thought, it was nice to have them back.

* * *

Harry hit the wall hard. His head smacked against the stone. The only thing keeping it from splitting open was the Cushioning Charm that Cedric had cast around the room to ensure that they didn't get killed on impact.

"I think you were better that time," Cedric said.

"Yeah, I lasted seven seconds instead of six," Harry grumbled, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head gingerly. He glared at Cedric. "That last spell was completely uncalled for. You had already disarmed me."

"Sure," Cedric said, twirling Harry's wand in between his fingers. "But a real opponent isn't going to stop at just disarming you. They're going to do something painful and horrible to you."

"Slamming me into a cushioned wall isn't exactly comparable to a dark wizard doing painful and horrible things to me," Harry said, holding out his hand. With a casual toss, Cedric gave him back his wand.

"You're right. Maybe I should take off the Cushioning Charm," Cedric mused.

"Maybe later," Harry said. "Once I last more than ten seconds against you."

"If it makes you feel any better, I've been using progressively more complex spells against you. In the beginning I didn't even have to move or use anything but stunners and the Disarming Charm."

He was right. Cedric had started off using only the most basic spells against Harry but their last few duels, short as they were, had involved inanimate to animate transfiguration, conjuration, multi-layered defensive spells, and one particularly nasty area of effect blinding spell. Harry was forcing Cedric to get creative to beat him quickly, and with every new strategy that Cedric used, Harry was forced to find a counter for something he had never seen before. After all, Harry thought, Cedric could only come up with so many new avenues of attack. Eventually, Harry would have a counter for everything Cedric could throw at him and the fight would begin in earnest.

It was excellent training for a real duel. Cedric had an obsession with the dueling masters of the past, often reading their memoirs and instruction manuals, which had given him an edge in tactical awareness that Harry knew he didn't possess yet. Learning how to counter Cedric was a bit like countering the tactics of real dueling masters. Or at least it would be, Harry thought, once he actually managed to counter Cedric's tactics.

"At least you bothered to actually teach me the Warming Charm. That's the whole reason I showed up," Harry said.

"You don't enjoy our little get togethers?" Cedric asked, one hand on his brow in mock horror.

"I just think that you enjoy torturing me in the name of practice a little too much," Harry said. "It's a wonder that people like you so much if you act like this all the time."

"If you can believe it, I don't make a habit of knocking underclassmen into walls," Cedric said.

"Could've fooled me."

Cedric went over to a pile of books he had placed out of the way, in a corner of the classroom, and returned with one. He handed it to Harry.

Harry had read the rest of the books that Cedric had given him before, returning them as he did so. Every time he returned a book, Cedric would give him another. Harry thought that he had done more reading in the last month than in the year before that, but he couldn't deny that it was effective. This one was called, _Obviating the Obvious: A Guide to Tricks and Triumphs in Dueling_. Another one by a retired dueling master.

"What is it that we never work on anything other than dueling anymore? You use charms and transfiguration when you're dueling," Harry said.

"You can only progress so far so quickly in charms and transfiguration. They're disciplines that really need a foundation in order for you to succeed. You're nowhere close to integrating them into your dueling. Piecemeal learning will only hamper you in those disciplines. But learning how to duel itself, regardless of the spells you're using, is an art. Once you learn the principles of dueling you can integrate almost any technique into your preferred style," Cedric said.

"So, what you're telling me is that I'm never going to beat you in a duel?"

"That sounds about right."

Harry sighed. He set the book in his bag.

"Cedric, why do you like dueling so much?" Harry asked. He surprised himself with the question. The two of them didn't spend much time talking about themselves. Dueling, practicing spells, and bantering were the usual extent of their interaction. That was normal for Harry, but he had the feeling that Cedric was more inquisitive than that and that he was just holding back for Harry' sake.

Cedric didn't respond at first, looking thoughtful. Then he said, "I like the feeling of it. The excitement. Same with quidditch really. You never know what's going to happen next; you've just got to think on your feet and if you're good enough, you win. It's why I'm a seeker. Seekers win games. It's rare for chasers to get enough points that they can win a match without the seeker catching the snitch. Dueling is the same. Just you, one on one, win or lose with an opponent."

"So you want to become a professional then? Duel on the circuit?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, if I get good enough. It's hard though. There's no domestic circuit anymore, it's all international, based in Paris. So you don't have to be just good enough to beat everyone in Britain, you've got to be able to hold your own against the best in Europe."

"Why teach me then?" Harry asked. That question had been bothering him for some time. It didn't make a lot of sense for someone as ambitious as Cedric to be spending valuable time helping him out when he could be training or learning himself.

"Because…if you know something, you can do it. But if you can teach something, that means you really _understand_ something. If I can make a decent duelist out of you, that has to mean something," Cedric said. Then he shrugged. "It's also hilarious watching you get knocked on your face repeatedly. Only a Gryffindor would be that stubborn."

It wasn't funny but Harry laughed anyway. Cedric had seemed unsure when he was telling Harry about the dueling circuit. It wasn't at all what Harry had come to expect from the confident Hufflepuff. He supposed that the dueling circuit was Cedric's dream, the one thing he was working toward in his life. Sharing your dreams with someone was difficult. It made Harry wonder what, exactly, his own dreams were.

"Well, since I've told you my hopes and dreams, you've got to tell me about yours," Cedric said. "Surely the magnificent Harry Potter has some suitably ambitious desires of his own."

"I don't think I do," Harry said, knowing it to be the truth. "I mean, you've probably wanted to be a duelist since you were a kid." Cedric nodded. "But I have no idea what I want. I didn't even know about magic until I was eleven. I live with my aunt and uncle. They're muggles. I guess I've been so wrapped up in Hogwarts, which is really all I've seen of the magical world, that I've never thought of what I want when I get out."

His impromptu opening up made Cedric look thoughtful. Harry was uncomfortable. He hated talking about his family. Hogwarts was the only place that he could get away from them. There was no need to mix the two.

"You don't need to decide how you're going to spend the rest of your life now," Cedric said. "I'm just..."

"Slightly insane?" Harry offered.

"Sure, slightly insane," Cedric said. "Witches and wizards live for a long time. My Aunt Sarah lived to be 177. And she was active till the day she died. Picking something for life is a big commitment. Most people don't switch around jobs that often."

It was reassuring, in a way, to hear that, but Harry still couldn't shake the idea that there should have been something that attracted him, a career that he could make his own that drew him in as passionately as dueling did Cedric. Harry doubted that Hermione would have a hard time finding something she was passionate about. It would be more of a challenge for her to pick between passions. As much as Harry loved Ron, he didn't hold him up as the model of wizardly good sense.

Harry realized that he didn't even know what his parents had done. He wondered when they had known what they wanted to do, and when they had been forced to give them up to go into hiding. Before Black betrayed them, Harry's mind provided, an involuntary addendum.

"Anyway, that's all I have time for today," Cedric said. "I promised Professor Sprout that I would help her with some new plant she's getting today. Apparently it's massive."

"Probably poisonous and aggressive, too," Harry said. Cedric looked about as thrilled as someone who just found out a family member died.

"You could always come with me," Cedric said.

"No thanks. I'm very attached to all my limbs."

Harry laughed but Cedric just looked at him as if he were an idiot.

* * *

"Now, the Freezing Spell is complicated and I don't expect you all to be able to perform it today. Its difficulty lies in its overlap of disciplines. It is a spell that requires both charms and transfiguration. You're actually charming the air in a certain region to remain static, and then transfiguring the composition of that air to freeze it. The same principle applies if you're using it on an object, but to a lesser degree. Now remember, the incantation is _Glacius_. This spell is unusual in that it has no wand movement, a result of its partially transfigurative nature. Try it with your partner."

Lupin left his podium and began walking in between students trying, unsuccessfully, to cast the spell.

Harry was partnered with Hermione. Ron had, much to his consternation, been paired with Neville. Both looked terrified; Ron because he thought Neville was going to accidentally freeze him and Neville because he had already convinced himself that he wasn't going to be able to perform the spell.

"Would you like to go first?" Hermione asked.

"That's alright. I'm still thinking about the spell," Harry said. He was comparing it in his head with the Warming Spell that Cedric had taught him a few weeks ago. The properties of the spells were similar, just the inversion of one another. Harry was sure that since he had already mastered the Warming Spell, its opposite wouldn't pose much of a challenge.

Hermione drew her wand and pointed at the top of her desk, her brow furrowed in concentration, her hand steady. " _Glacius_ ," she said, enunciating every syllable with precision. A light mist of freezing air in front of her wand appeared, but the desk itself remained untouched. She looked frustrated. It was rare she had nothing to show for her first attempt.

"Try again," Harry said.

Hermione huffed and cast the spell again. Her pronunciation was, again, perfect, and Harry was sure that she wasn't having any trouble with the visualization of the spell's effects, but the spell failed to have the hoped for effect a second time. Rather than the desk icing over, the entire chunk of air in front of Hermione had frozen, tiny droplets of frozen condensation roughly shoved together by the spell falling and shattering on the desk.

"You're putting too much into the spell," Harry said. "The overload of magic results in it not giving the spell enough time to get to your target."

"Your turn then," Hermione said, a bit tetchily.

" _Glacius_ ," Harry said. An even coat of ice frosted the desk in front of him, making an audible cracking sound as it spread, until the entire top of the desk was covered in a pristine, translucent skin.

"Well done, Harry," Lupin said, having been attracted by the sound of the ice. "Five points to Gryffindor."

Harry could tell that Hermione was torn between her usual happiness at points being awarded to Gryffindor, and her equally usual disappointment that it wasn't her that had won the points. Her disappointment won out.

"How did you do that? On the first try!" Hermione's voice rose, attracting Ron's attention when he was trying to cast the spell. A mist of ice solidified in front of Ron, but it was in front of Neville's face, rather than the desk. Neville yelped and Ron, panicked, ended the spell. The ice fell to the ground, other than that which was already stuck on Neville's face. Lupin was moving in to fix the problem over Neville's yelping and Ron's protestations of innocence.

"Just tried to use the transfiguration principles you've always been telling me about," Harry said. He suspected that Hermione wouldn't take too well to finding out that he was learning spells with both Cedric and Lupin that were helping him out in class. She would either be jealous or demand to be let in on the sessions. Or both. And Harry didn't view his time with Cedric so much as training time, though it was that, as much as a relaxation from his usual routine at Hogwarts. Cedric was fun to be around and Harry liked bantering with the older boy. With Lupin he was still stuck on the Patronus Charm, having made no further progress.  
His ease with the Freezing Spell wasn't an anomaly. Harry had noticed that spells in all of his classes were coming more easily to him. In Charms he was among the first to master a new spell and in Transfiguration his increased focus on theory had led him to be able to perform some semblance of a transfiguration before the end of the class, a marked improvement from his previous level of skill. Hermione was usually absorbed with her own work and rarely noticed how far her peers were progressing unless, as Lupin had done, she was given a partner.

The fact that Harry was able to pick up spells faster lead to him having more free time than he had before. Rather than spending it on classwork he would read through the books Lupin and Cedric gave him, or practice a new spell that he wasn't going over in classes, or play chess with Ron.

Harry derived a certain satisfaction from the speed at which he was learning new spells; it gave him incentive to master the next one, which was in turn learned faster than the previous spell, producing what Cedric called a 'snowball effect,' though he warned Harry that he would plateau at some point and stop learning spells any faster. Diminishing returns set in pretty early when learning more magic. There were also certain harder spells that Cedric told Harry wouldn't come any easier from his intensive learning process.

Harry figured that the Patronus Charm was an example of such a spell. He could rapidly call up the shielding mist of the patronus, but he still wasn't able to shape it. Lupin was as clueless as Harry as to the source of his block.

Breaking out of his thoughts, Harry asked Hermione, "Do you want to try again?"

She went to cast the spell again, but before she could, Lupin said, "I'm sorry everyone but that's all the time we have. We spent a lot of time on theory today so try to practice the spell again before our next meeting. Remember the words of a great wizard, 'practice makes the master.'"

The class packed up their things while Lupin was talking. Hermione, as usual, waited for the professor to finish speaking before she packed up. Ron ambled over, guiltily watching Neville leave the classroom, his face still marked from where Ron had frozen it.

"I reckon that won't last for too long. His face, I mean," Ron said.

"I don't know, Ron. I think Neville's got a great face," Harry said brightly. Ron glowered at him but he coaxed a laugh out of Hermione. Letting her dwell on her failures was a sure way to ruin his own day as well.

Hermione shouldered her bag and stood up, side by side with Ron. She looked at Harry, who had packed up his things but made no movement to join them. "Aren't you coming?" she asked.

"I've got a few questions for Professor Lupin," Harry said.

"Anything I can help with," Hermione said. She seemed eager. Harry recognized her eagerness as a desire to prove herself again after her failure with the Freezing Spell. Hermione's need for validation was nothing new.

"That's alright, these aren't questions about class. I'll tell you later," Harry said.

With one glance back, Hermione left the room with Ron. Harry watched them go, waiting another minute for the last stragglers to meander out of the classroom until it was just him and Lupin.

"Can I help you with something Harry?" Lupin asked. "If this is about the Patronus Charm I must confess that I don't have any suggestions for you other than to keep working at it. We'll get there eventually."

"It's not about that, professor," Harry said. "Actually, it's about something I saw. A picture."

Harry could see that he had Lupin's full attention. "At the end of my first year, Hagrid gave me a photo album, with pictures of my parents."

Lupin nodded. "I know. I helped him put it together."

"You did?" Harry asked, surprised. It hadn't crossed his mind that Lupin would have helped Hagrid but in retrospect it made sense. A lot of those pictures seemed personal, as if they had come from people who knew his parents well. If Lupin had been as close to his parents as Hagrid seemed to think he was then it would make sense that he had a lot of pictures of them.

"Yes, I knew your parents well. Your father was my first friend when I came to Hogwarts. We were sorted into Gryffindor together. I'm sorry I never told you, but I wasn't sure how to bring it up. It didn't seem completely appropriate, seeing as I am your teacher. I'm glad you found out though. I'd be happy to answer any questions you have. I'm assuming that you do have questions," Lupin said.

"Of course," Harry said. He hesitated, unsure if he should ask his most pressing question first or save it for later.

Deciding to hold nothing back, Harry asked, "Professor, were you and my dad friends with Sirius Black?"

Lupin's entire body went slack, as if he had been struck by some great force that immobilized him. His face had an expression of great pain and concentration. Harry almost regretted asking the question but he had to know.

"Yes," Lupin said finally. "There were four of us. Your father, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, and me. We called ourselves the Marauders." Lupin gave a little laugh and Harry felt a chill go down his back.

"The Marauders?" Lupin didn't seem to notice his surprise, focused as he was on his own memories.

"It was your father's idea. He was an inveterate prankster. He and Sirius were constantly coming up with clever ways to get around, or outright break, the rules. Peter would follow them in whatever harebrained scheme they had come up with and I, being the responsible one, or at least relatively more responsible than them, would reign in the worst of their impulses. We were the Weasley twins of Hogwarts during our time, you could say, but twice as potent."

"So Black was one of your best friends. He was best friends with my dad?" Harry tried to wrap his mind around betraying his best friends and he couldn't. The thought of ever doing to Hermione or Ron what Black had done to his parents made him nauseous. The hatred for Black that had been festering inside Harry grew worse, angrier, more irrational.

"Yes," Lupin said, sadness taking the place of pain. "I couldn't believe it when I heard that Sirius had betrayed your parents. They were under a powerful spell, the Fidelius Charm, and only one person, the secret keeper, could tell anyone their location. Sirius was the secret keeper they chose. He betrayed their location to Voldemort and then, when Peter tracked him down in a fit of rage, he murdered Peter along with a dozen muggles." Anger replaced Lupin's sadness in the same way it had done Harry's.

The confirmation of his fears was almost too much for Harry. He put a hand out on Lupin's desk to steady himself, impotent anger making his head swim. Something inside him was roiling, begging for release.

"I never thought that the pictures would lead you to find something like that out. I just wanted you to have something to remind you of your parents, to give you a little glimpse into their lives."

Tears prickled the corners of Harry's eyes, but whether out of sadness or anger he couldn't tell. "I know. Thank you."

Lupin seemed at a loss for words, so Harry, trying to move to a lighter topic, not wanting to think about his parents and Sirius Black said, "How did you come up with the nicknames, then? Padfoot, Moony, Wormtail, and Prongs. Which one were you?"

"How did you know about those names?" Lupin asked, somewhere between suspicious and surprised.

Rather than telling him, Harry went over to his bag and fished out the Marauder's Map. He had taken to carrying it with him, consulting it often in the hopes of seeing Sirius Black inside the castle. So that he could be captured. Or so that Harry could find him. He wasn't sure which he wanted more.

Carrying the map over to Lupin, Harry said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." The usual map of Hogwarts curled over the page in intricate lines. "Snape and Professor McGonagall are in her office," he noted, waiting for Lupin to say something.

"I thought that it had been destroyed. It was confiscated by Filch before we graduated. Sirius almost never forgave Peter for letting Filch get his hands on it." Harry flinched at the mention of Black.

"The Weasley twins found it," he said.

"And they gave it to you," Lupin surmised.

"About a month ago, actually. I had no idea who Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs were."

"I was Moony, Peter was Wormtail, Sirius was Padfoot, and your father was Prongs. I think we found it exciting to have nicknames, almost like we were living double lives. Or hiding a terrible secret," Lupin said, almost as an afterthought.

"Odd nicknames," Harry said.

"Yes, they were," Lupin said. Then, after a moment, he said, "Harry, I'm going to have to keep this map. You understood why?"

Harry hesitated, not wanting to commit to anything.

"This is our best chance at keeping Black out of Hogwarts. I won't show it to anyone but Dumbledore but I'm confident that between us we can figure out a way for the map to alert us if Sirius Black steps foot on the premises. Once he's captured, if Dumbledore permits it, I'll return the map to you," Lupin said.

Harry was disappointed, but he understood Lupin's logic. Part of him couldn't help but be frustrated. If Black were to show up it would be unlikely that Harry would have a chance to get him before Dumbledore got to him. And Harry doubted that Black would stand much of a chance against Dumbledore.

He didn't voice any of his thoughts. "I understand, professor."

Lupin pocketed the map. Harry wondered if he would ever see the map again. Better into Dumbledore's possession than Filch or Snape's, he thought.

"That's all very dark," Lupin said. "I'm sure you would much rather hear stories about your parents."

Harry had to choke back a sudden rush of emotion. He didn't trust himself to say anything, so he just bobbed his head. Black rose to Harry's mind along with his parents but with the prospect of hearing Lupin's stories Harry wasn't sure he minded all that much.

"Let me tell you about their first year, when Lily and James met for the first time…"

* * *

The bludger narrowly avoided hitting Harry in the head. At the last moment Harry veered away, recognizing the danger. Fred flew past, giving Harry and incredulous look. Harry knew that if he had been paying attention he would have seen the bludger coming with time to spare but he had been unable to focus during quidditch practices recently.

Part of that was his missing broom. The school Cleansweep was frustrating to work with, never responding to his nudges in time; a sharp contrast to his Nimbus, which had often seemed as if it knew what Harry was going to do before he knew. There was no line between instinct and movement with the Nimbus, it cut out cumbersome overthinking. The Cleansweep forced reflection and overcompensation with every movement.

Wood flew up alongside Harry. "Find a new broom," he said.

"I'm trying."

"No. No excuses. With the Nimbus you were probably the best seeker in the school. On this thing you couldn't take Malfoy on his worst day. Find. A. New. Broom. I don't care if you have to break into Gringotts to do it."

Harry thought that Wood was being a bit overdramatic. He wasn't stupid enough to ever try to break into Gringotts.

Besides, Harry knew it wasn't just the broom that was holding him back. He hadn't been able to focus at any of the last few quidditch practices. The revelation about Black wouldn't leave Harry alone; he wasn't able to compartmentalize it. The smallest things would remind him of it. Treachery, his mind would scream at him.

He couldn't shake the worry that the quidditch pitch was the perfect place for Black to ambush him. There were only a few other people out with him, it was as far from the castle as you could get without leaving school grounds (maximizing Dumbledore or Lupin's response time) and Harry would be high in the air, meaning all Black needed was to get him to lose his grip on his broom, a task made all the easier by the antique Cleansweep Harry was using. There was no doubt in his mind that he was most vulnerable when flying, and sometimes he had the feeling that someone was watching him, but when he looked around he didn't see anyone other than the other Gryffindors.

When he wasn't consumed by bouts of paranoia, Harry found himself drifting off at various parts of the day, fantasizing about bringing down Black. A recurring fantasy he had was noticing that Black was following him, but pretending not to notice until he turned the tables on Black by leading him into a trap and defeating him in a duel. It was ridiculous he knew, there was little chance of him being able to hope to survive a fair duel with Black, let alone win, but that didn't stop his imagination from creating its own elaborate scenarios.

It was the conclusion to those duels that worried Harry. He didn't bind Black, or disarm him, he did worse things. He used the spells that Cedric and Lupin had taught him to make sure that Black would never hurt anyone again. Sometimes it was the Blasting Curse, other times the Severing Curse. But Black never made it out of duels whole. Harry always inflicted a wound.

He didn't tell anyone about his fantasies. Ron wouldn't know what to say and Hermione would worry (and probably try to get him to talk to a professor). Cedric and Lupin were possibilities, but Harry didn't feel as if he knew either of them well enough to confide in them. And Lupin had been friends with Black; he had conflicting feelings on the matter, Harry was sure.

So Harry kept his involuntary thoughts, his schizophrenic feelings, to himself. His performance in his quidditch practices suffered, the quality of his essays dropped precipitously, and Ron had switched partners in potions so that Hermione could watch over Harry, who had made the jump from incompetent to accident prone. As if Snape's contempt for him hadn't already been great enough.

Katie Bell flew up alongside Harry after Wood had left. "I have an old Nimbus 1500 I can lend you if you don't want to buy a new broom," she said. Her sympathy grated at Harry. He knew he wasn't playing well but the constant looks he was getting from his teammates, even from Fred and George, was intolerable. He preferred Wood's frustration to their pity.

"That's alright," Harry said. "I'm still holding out hope that the Firebolt will be fine."

Wood had almost marched into McGonagall's office to have her hurry up when Harry had told the team he was given the Firebolt for Christmas but that it might be cursed. It had taken Angelina, and, surprisingly, Fred and George, to explain why that would be a bad idea. Though, if anyone would know how far you could push McGonagall it would be Fred and George.

Harry suspected that the only reason Wood hadn't completely blown up at Harry was that he was counting on them getting the broom and Harry returning to his normal, quidditch loving self. Privately, Harry wasn't so sure. The more he thought about it the more likely it seemed that the broom would be cursed, that it would be Black who had sent it to him as a lazy murder attempt.

"If you're sure," Katie said, giving him a sad smile. Harry just drifted off on his broom, descending in a slow, wide loop until his feet grazed the grass. He swung the broomstick over his shoulder and deposited it in the school shed.

There were team tactics sessions after every practice. Wood didn't let time restrictions on how long he could book the pitch detract from his obsession with team training. Harry trudged into their locker room, the last one to arrive.

Wood had already begun the lesson. Before Harry could take a seat, Wood said, "Not you, Potter. If you couldn't focus out there when you were actually on a broom there's no way you'll listen to this. It's just a waste of my time and yours. Go back up to the castle and sleep or something. Get out of this funk you're in. Make yourself useful again."

The words stung but Harry couldn't deny their essential truthfulness. He hadn't come in with even the slightest intent to pay attention to what Wood was going to say. It was just another chore, the sum of which constituted his day.

While trudging back to the castle Harry decided to go to the library. He wasn't in a mood to go back to the Gryffindor common room and have Ron or Hermione ask why he was back so early. Hermione still hadn't forgotten his easy mastery of the Freezing Spell. That, combined with Black's escape, meant she was keeping a closer eye on him than usual.

Inevitably, she was the first to comment when Harry got an essay back with a subpar grade. His last three Potions essays had been Poor, and he wasn't hoping for much more than a Dreadful on his most recent submission. Though Potions was his worst class, the others weren't much better. Hermione had told him that if he didn't improve his grades soon she was going to start forcing him to write his essays with her supervision. Harry didn't doubt she would either.

Seeming to sense his mood, few said anything to Harry as he passed them in the halls. The library wasn't full, it being January. O.W.L.S. and N.E.W.T.S. were far enough away that upperclassmen could still convince themselves that they had time and the professors usually took it easy on the younger students. Only the most dedicated made a habit out of working in the library.

Harry noticed Cedric sitting with a group of older Hufflepuffs in a corner. They made eye contact but Harry made no effort to greet Cedric. Instead, he wandered into the transfiguration section of the library.

Of the practical fields of wand magic, transfiguration was still his weakest by some margin. Harry was hoping that focusing his free time on it would enable him to integrate it into his dueling faster than Cedric was anticipating. The only way to get better at transfiguration was repetition and theoretical mastery. There were hundreds of variations for even the simplest spell in transfiguration, each with their own applicable principles, making it one of the most time consuming areas of study. The theoretical studying that Harry did usually left him with a headache.

Finding the book he was looking for, Harry pulled _Reconstruction and Integrity: Principles of Non-Sentient Transfiguration_ off the shelf. It was enormous. Harry had been working through it for the past few weeks at a glacial pace.

Straining, Harry carried it over to the nearest table in the secluded part of the library that he favored. Flipping it open to where he left off, Harry began reading the microscopic print.

Someone thudded into the chair next to him.

"Looks like fun reading," Cedric said.

"Almost as fun as getting smashed into a wall repeatedly," Harry said.

Cedric whistled. "That bad, huh?"

Harry flipped the book to Cedric who began reading out loud. "'…and, as indicated by the seventeenth principle of metallurgical transfiguration, there is no correlation between the primary and tertiary unification outcomes, each responding to a different function of the prime casting.' Well, that sounds lovely."

As if the book were something distasteful, Cedric gingerly pushed it back over to Harry. "Taking this whole learning binge seriously, are we?" he said.

"I'm doing so poorly on my written work that if I don't do the practical portion perfectly I might not pass."

"I'm sure it's not that bad," Cedric said.

"I haven't gotten above an Acceptable on any of the last half-dozen essays I've written."

Cedric blinked. "That's awful."

"Yeah."

"Isn't one of your closest friends supposed to be one of the best students in the school? You might want to look into having her read your essays over before you submit them."

"I'm not an idiot," Harry said. "I can write an essay. I just…don't see the point. I've learned more studying on my own and with you and Lupin than I have in a year of going to my classes. When I'm writing essays on stuff that I mastered weeks or months ago it's just time I can't spend moving on."

"You've mastered the practical portion but you haven't mastered the theoretical portion. That's what the essays are for. And the spells we've been working on are, well, dueling spells. They're not going to get you through your O.W.L.S. You need a balanced course of study."

"Balanced? What's balanced going to do when Black hunts me down?" Harry said, a touch hysterically.

Cedric recoiled as if he had been struck. Then he said, "You're afraid," as if it finally made sense to him. In some ways, Harry was sure it finally did make sense. Cedric wasn't being hunted by a mass murderer who broke out of the most secure prison in the world. If Black could get out of Azkaban there was little doubt in Harry's mind he could get into Hogwarts.

"You're damn right I'm afraid," Harry said, frustrated that he had revealed so much to Cedric. "I know maybe three spells that are actually any use in a duel. If I want to survive Black I need more. I need something that'll even the playing field."

"You have Dumbledore," Cedric said. "The odds are already stacked in your favor. He won't let anything happen to you."

"Oh yeah," Harry said. "My first year my defense teacher tried to kill me. Last year a basilisk get set loose on the school and Dumbledore was sacked. It was a miracle nobody was killed. Dumbledore isn't perfect. I'm not going to bank on him saving me. I need to be able to protect myself."

Crestfallen, Cedric said, "What can I do then? How can I help you?"

Harry sighed. He knew he shouldn't take out his fears and frustrations on Cedric. "Nothing, I'm learning as fast as I can. I just…I don't know that it'll be enough."

The fear the Harry had been harboring, the companion to his impotent anger, revealed itself. Cedric seemed to be pondering Harry's words, unwilling to commit himself to saying whatever was on his mind, until he said, "There might be something we can do."

"What?"

"In the restricted section there are spells, dangerous spells, which could give you an edge against Black. He'll underestimate you, no doubt about it. If you used one of these you'd have a chance. Better than if you used any of the spells that you know now. They're too conventional. Slower and weaker than what we'd find in there."

"They're in the restricted section?" Harry asked. "Why?" He suspected that he already knew the answer.

"They're not spells that Dumbledore wants us knowing," Cedric said. "Powerful, dangerous magic, a lot of it dark. Some of it's even banned in the professional dueling circuit, but if you're going to protect yourself against Black, if you don't think Hogwarts and Dumbledore are enough, then that's what you'll need," Cedric said, with the air of someone coming to an unwanted but unavoidable conclusion.

"Do you have a pass for the restricted section?"

"No, they're almost impossible to get unless you're doing extra work sponsored by a professor. I doubt even Sprout would give me one."

"But you know what we'd be looking for if we got in?" Harry asked.

"I suppose so."

"Well," Harry said, "I guess that means we'll just have to break in."

* * *

With an overdramatic flourish of his wand, Ron cast the spell. The kindling on his desk morphed hesitantly, almost seeming undirected, before coalescing as a half-finished sculpture of a Roman centurion. The sculpture was grotesque, only finished on one side, the smooth, detailed face and torso giving way to gnarled branch.

"It's not that bad," Harry assured him. "Very artistic. Cutting edge. The imperfection is what makes it interesting."

"Course, that's what I was aiming for. It's interesting looking," Ron said. They glanced over at Hermione's sculpture. It was perfect. A thin branch had given way to a beautiful sculpture of a robed woman with a circlet on her head and wand in her hand. Every detail was sharp, a natural extension of the wood, and looked to be the work of a master craftsman. She looked over at Ron's sculpture and raised an eyebrow. Ron just shrugged.

"I think that will be all for today," McGonagall said from behind her desk. "We will continue practicing next time. I see some of you need further work." Harry wasn't positive but it looked as if she was eying Ron's sculpture in particular.

"Mr. Potter, please stay after class," she said. Ron and Hermione looked at him helplessly, Ron mouthing 'Good luck,' before they left, leaving Harry alone with McGonagall.

"Your written work has been nothing short of abysmal," McGonagall said without preamble. "While your practical work has seen a stark improvement that does not excuse you from the expectations I place on all of my students."

"Yes, I'm sorry professor," Harry said.

Her face softened. "Is everything alright with you, Mr. Potter?" she asked.

He hesitated. The more leeway with McGonagall he could get the better, but he had to be careful not to seem insincere.

"It's Sirius Black, professor. I just…can't stop thinking about him. I mean, he broke out of Azkaban. What's to stop him from breaking in here?"

"Albus Dumbledore," McGonagall said, with simplicity and confidence. Harry admired her faith in the man, but he couldn't reconcile it with his own experience at Hogwarts.

"That's what everyone keeps telling me, but it doesn't make me feel any better," Harry said.

McGonagall looked disappointed and Harry felt guilty. Burdening her with his troubles was pointless. There was nothing she could do that wasn't already being done to catch Black.

She said, "I can recommend that Madam Pomfrey prescribe some anti-anxiety potions for you. That may help."

"No, that's alright, professor. I'm fine. I'll work harder on my essays. I'm sure Hermione will help me if I ask."

McGonagall seemed pleased by his proposed proactivity but the worry wasn't gone. "If you're sure, Mr. Potter." She paused. "That wasn't the only reason I kept you back. I looked over your Firebolt, consulting with Professor Snape, and we determined that there are no jinxes, hexes, or curses on it. We don't know who sent it to you but it wasn't Sirius Black."

Reaching into a drawer of her desk she pulled out his Firebolt. Harry didn't question how it had fit into McGonagall's desk, instead cradling the broom like a child. He was surprised by how much it meant to him to have the broom back. A worry that he didn't know had been bothering him was washed away.

"Thanks, professor," Harry said.

"It was very responsible of you to bring it to me," she said. "All we want is to keep you and your classmates safe."

"Even Snape?" Harry asked.

She didn't smile, but Harry fancied that he saw her lips quirk. "Even Professor Snape," she said.

Thanking her again, Harry draped the broom over his shoulder and left the classroom. Ron and Hermione were waiting outside. Harry was touched by their patience.

Ron's eyes widened comically when he saw the Firebolt. "It's safe!" he shouted.

Hermione didn't even bother to hush him, smiling widely.

"It's safe," Harry confirmed. "Snape and McGonagall checked it together."

"Professor McGonagall," Hermione said.

Harry ignored her, knowing the reaction was automatic. "They don't even think that Black is the one that sent it."

"I wonder who did then," Ron said, looking as if he wanted to reach out and snatch the broom from Harry, who, seeing this, took the broom from over his shoulder and handed it to Ron. He thought that Ron was going to pass out from excitement. With superhuman restrain, Ron ran his hands along the Firebolt, feeling its heft and seeming to debate the merits of mounting it right in the hallway. Harry took it back before his friend decided to hijack his broom.

"Things are looking up," Hermione said.

Harry decided not to mention McGonagall's warning about his grades. "Yeah, things are looking up," he said.

AN: I've finished writing this story. All that remains is for the unposted chapters to be edited. It's five chapters in total, each one of roughly equal length. I'm planning on posting one a week. Hope you enjoy.


	3. Chapter 3

It was five minutes before curfew. Harry was waiting outside the library, invisibility cloak in hand, waiting for Cedric. The library had nearly completely emptied out. Students had started rushing back to the dorms as curfew approached, some giving Harry odds looks for loitering outside the library.

Harry had spent the last few nights watching the library, specifically Madam Pince's habits. She would tidy up the library for about half an hour after curfew and then retire back to her rooms. The teachers and prefects on duty would then patrol the library, though with varying degrees of attentiveness. Filch was the only one who seemed as if he was actively looking for students breaking curfew. The rest just wandered through, the prefects chatting banally with their partners.

With only a minute to spare before curfew Cedric came running up to Harry, panting, and said, "Sorry, I had trouble getting away from my friends. They're too curious for their own good."

"At least you made it," Harry said. Grabbing Cedric by the arm, Harry led him around the corner, looked both ways, and then threw his cloak over the pair of them.

Having already been briefed on Harry's invisibility cloak Cedric wasn't surprised, but he still seemed enthralled by the prospect of invisibility. When Harry had first told him he had an invisibility cloak he had asked slyly whether Harry ever used it for 'extracurricular' activities, earning him an annoyed glare.

The cloak almost wasn't large enough for both of them. Cedric was taller than Harry, and the cloak barely covered their feet. One incautious step would leave them exposed, Harry knew. They had practiced synchronizing their steps the day before so that they wouldn't, at an inopportune moment, let someone catch a glimpse of their feet.

"Shall we?" Cedric muttered.

"Lets."

Slipping past the last of pair of students leaving the classroom, two love struck Ravenclaws who Harry doubted very much were on their way back to their common room, he and Cedric entered the empty library. Pince was behind her desk, clearing away the last of the returned books. She was humming a ditty to herself. It was, Harry thought, the most human she had ever seemed. Most students knew Pince only as the tyrant of the library. Surrounded only by her books she seemed calmer, as if the threat that the students posed to her orderly fiefdom was finally removed.

Harry and Cedric waited in the corner while Pince finished up. On his excursion the night before Harry had walked into the restricted section and then back out again, waiting in the corner to see if his intrusion would set off any alarms. It didn't. The restricted section, if it indeed had any alarms, didn't have them on its entrance. Once Pince left the only obstacle in Harry and Cedric's way were the roving bands of prefects and solitary teachers looking for students out late. And Filch. Harry suspected that Filch would be their most implacable foe. Mrs. Norris had an uncanny ability to detect him, even when he was under his cloak. He wasn't positive but he thought it was because of her keen sense of smell.

They were bored waiting for Pince to leave. At one point Cedric began humming along to Pince's ditty, a rather impressive harmony, and Harry had to elbow him in the gut to get him to shut up. Cedric didn't seem the least bit apologetic. His sense of danger wasn't quite so finely tuned as Harry's.

Eventually Pince finished her task and, with one final look around the library, she extinguished all but the most essential lights in the library, lending it an eerie and foreboding air. Massive bookshelves filled with ancient tomes rose to the ceiling, looking like skyscrapers to Harry, while light faded away the further along the aisle he looked, until Harry's vision failed you and he would have to inch his way along, blind.

"No time like the present," Cedric said. They began slowly, carefully, moving forward. There didn't seem to be anyone else in the library yet but Harry knew that would change as the night waxed on.

They stood before the entrance to the restricted section, an iron gateway placed right in front of Pince's desk so that she could monitor who entered and exited. The hinges didn't squeak as Harry reached out a hand and pushed the gate open. Next to him, Cedric exhaled, the realization hitting him that they were about to violate the most sacred rule of the library. There were no further obstacles before them.

"You know what we're looking for, right?" Harry asked.

"More or less," Cedric said.

Harry glanced over at him. "More or less?" he repeated.

"Well, it's not like I know the names of a lot of books that have powerful and obscure spells in them." Cedric refrained from calling them dark. "I just figured that we'll know them when we see them."

"Do you know how many books are in here?" Harry said, incredulous.

The restricted section didn't appear to be much smaller than the rest of the library. Apparently there was a lot of magic that the Headmasters of Hogwarts hadn't deemed fit for perusal by the general student body. Harry wondered how many of the books in there were present at Dumbledore's discretion.

There were too many books for Harry to even have a general idea of where to start. Cedric left the confines of the cloak and started browsing a shelf.

"Don't go far," Harry said. "If someone comes we'll need to get under the cloak quickly."

"Sure," Cedric said, absently. "I never thought that there would be this many books in the restricted section."

"Makes you wonder just how much we don't know," Harry said. Cedric grunted; his form of assent, Harry supposed.

The titles of the books weren't reassuring. Three chosen at random by Harry were _Dismembering Goblins: A Practical Guide_ , _The Function of the Spleen as a Curative_ , and _A Primer on War Magic_. The pages were beginning to turn to a fine dust and he doubted that they had been opened in a very long time. Harry returned the first two to the shelf but kept the last one. He showed it to Cedric.

"Could be useful, yeah?"

"Looks more promising than anything I've found," Cedric said with disgust. He shoved the book he was holding back on the shelf. Harry wasn't sure but he thought he heard a muffled keening come from the book.

"Let's keep looking before we call it a night," Harry said.

The two of them kept advancing down their rows. They were methodical, removing every book within reach from its place, finding the title, and, if it looked promising, tucking it under one arm. It was obvious that few students used the restricted section. There were almost no ladders to reach the higher books and dust laid thick in some areas; it could have been decades since some of the volumes had been removed from their spots. Even Madam Pince didn't seem to take much of an interest in the restricted section, judging from the disreputable state of many of the books; it was a sharp contrast to the rest of the meticulously maintained library.

At one point, Cedric said, "Won't they notice if these books have been moved?"

"Does it look like these books have been touched in the last few decades?" Harry said. He doubted that Pince's duties often took her into the restricted section.

In about two hours of searching they only found three books worth looking through; Harry's primer on war magic, a tome on esoteric potions, and a promising book called _Magick Moste Evile_.

"I don't think that we should remove them from the restricted section," Cedric said. "We don't know what kind of security system this place has. The school might not care who comes in here but I'm willing to bet that they care who's taking books out."

"So what's the point of finding them then?" Harry asked, frustrated that Cedric hadn't mentioned that problem earlier. He agreed with Cedric, but he had no intention of spending night after night in the restricted section, studying obscure volumes by dim candlelight and hoping that they wouldn't be caught by Filch.

"I brought some parchment and learned a spell that can copy pages from books. We just have to go through these books and see if anything we want is in them. Anything that looks promising I can make a copy of and we can study later."

It was a decent plan given the circumstances, but Harry couldn't help but feel that copying piecemeal from books on dark magic wasn't the smartest way to approach the subject. He squashed his concerns though. Desperate times bred desperate action, he rationalized. Whatever damage was done to him through dark magic would be nothing compared to what Black would do if Harry ran into him.

Harry began skimming _A Primer on War Magic_. Some of it was interesting, discussing tactics in large scale battles, training methods, and the proper use of environments; other parts were less interesting, focusing mainly on strategic initiative and something the author called Realmagicke, which, as far as Harry could tell, was a principle about overarching strategic goals in warfare and diplomacy. He ignored those sections, reasoning that they had little to do with what they were after.

There were a few spells that looked promising in the book. One, _Exstirpo_ , the Disintegrating Curse, looked like exactly the type of spell that Harry would need to use against Black. He had Cedric copy that down, along with a few other spells that, while they looked useful, seemed less destructive than the Disintegrating Curse. A versatile spell arsenal was a dangerous spell arsenal, after all.

Cedric had chosen to go through the potions books and by the time he had finished he had copied down over a dozen recipes. He seemed excited. Harry was less than thrilled at the prospect of spending more time slaving over a cauldron, even if some of the potions that Cedric showed him did look promising. One claimed to temporarily give eyes in the back of your head; another would supercharge the body's healing function, allowing all but the most grievous of wounds to be healed in the middle of battle.

Though he didn't check, Harry had a feeling that the ingredients required for such potions would be either egregiously expensive or grotesque. He remembered Hermione telling once that the potency of a potion was limited only by the potency of the ingredients in it and the skill of the brewer. Potions brewed by the greatest of masters could create magic that rivaled even the most talented spell casters.

Before Harry had a chance to move from the book on war magic, he saw a light at the far end of the restricted section, where he and Cedric had entered. It wasn't stationary, bobbing back and forth and growing steadily brighter.

"Did we remember to shut the gate?" Cedric asked.

Harry didn't bother to respond, instead going up beside Cedric and throwing the cloak over their heads. They both set down their books and extinguished their wand lights. The darkness swallowed them.

Keeping one part of his body against the bookshelf, Harry guided Cedric down the row and away from the encroaching lamplight. He could hear the soft patter of footsteps behind them, growing closer. Harry wondered if the isle was wide enough to accommodate three people without them bumping into whoever was investigating the restricted section.

After Cedric nearly toppled into Harry he decided to stay stationary. He and Cedric pressed up against the bookshelf, as tight as they could go, and Harry made sure that none of their bodies were showing.

The lamp grew closer and Harry could make out Filch, muttering to himself, with Mrs. Norris padding alongside him. Harry's nervousness grew at the sight of the cat. Filch wouldn't be able to find them unless he bumped into them but Mrs. Norris might. Next to him, Harry could hear Cedric saying something but it was too quiet for him to make out what. He didn't dare ask Cedric what it had been. Filch was too close.

When he was only a few feet away Filch stopped. On the ground, near his feet, were the three books that Harry and Cedric had been looking at. Filch picked up the top one and stared at the cover. Harry saw that it was the potions book and was grateful. Potions didn't quite have the same reputation for being dark magic. It was generally looked down upon by many wizards in the magical world, other than for its role as a medical supplement. Few had the patience to cultivate great skill with potions.

Harry doubted that Filch would have been so casual if he had picked up _Magick Moste Evile._ As it was, Filch put down the potions book and shuffled past where Harry and Cedric were pressed up against the bookshelf. He came within a few inches of them and Harry held his breath, hoping that Filch wouldn't hear anything.

He didn't. Filch and, to Harry's surprise, Mrs. Norris, both padded past where he and Cedric were. Within a minute they were deep enough in the restricted section that Harry couldn't see their light.

Harry said, "I think it's time for us to go."

"We got everything we need from two of the books. Put the last one back, remember where it is, and we'll come back soon for it," Cedric said.

Shoving the potions and war magic books wherever they would fit, Harry more gently placed _Magick Moste Evile_ halfway down the row of books. He didn't think he would have any trouble finding it during their next visit. Cedric was clutching the invisibility cloak in his hand, looking nervously back where Filch had gone. Harry was less afraid. They would see Filch's lamplight long before he saw them.

"I'm surprised Mrs. Norris didn't stop," Harry said. "She can usually tell when I'm there, under the cloak, even if Filch can't."

"I thought something like that might be the case. That's why I cast a spell to block our scent. Nifty little charm that Flitwick taught me. Magical creature hunters love it," Cedric said.

Cedric looked smug but Harry decided to let him have his moment. If he kept them from getting caught Cedric could brag as much as he wanted.

"Good thinking," Harry said.

"It's no problem. I'm sure you were about to pull something equally brilliant off."

"You outwitted a cat. Get over yourself."

Pretending to pout, Cedric said, "I give you the idea for this heist, help you pull it off, and yet you continue to abuse me. Sometime I wonder if you even appreciate me at all."

"We should probably get out of here. When Filch doesn't find anyone back there he'll figure that whoever was here already left and he'll leave too. I don't want to be here when he makes a second pass."

"You're probably right," Cedric said.

Cedric put the cloak back over them and they left the restricted section, making sure to leave the gate open behind them. As much as Harry would love to torment Filch (a love shared by all Hogwarts students, regardless of house), he didn't need the man suspecting a break-in. Better for him to think that it was just some careless student or staff leaving books on the ground and that Pince forgot to shut the gate behind them.

They went to the unused classroom that they usually practiced in, under the cloak the whole way. Cedric locked the door with a spell behind them and cast a Silencing Charm on the room.

"How much did we get?" Harry asked, eager to see their spoils.

Reaching into his bag, Cedric pulled out a sheaf of papers. He spread them out on the desk in the front of the room. Harry counted nineteen. A bit disappointing, he thought. Most of those would be potions recipes. Hours of work and only a few spells.

He hoped that the spells they had gotten would be useful enough if he ended up confronting Black. The gap between their skill levels was sure to be enormous. Any victory on his part would be down to a quick, decisive strike that Black wasn't anticipating. If one of these spells wouldn't do the trick he and Cedric would have to go back again.

Cedric seemed to know what he was thinking. "Better to master just a few powerful spells than to half-way understand a dozen of them. We've got to be careful when we're using magic like this."

"I guess so," Harry said.

"Surprise is your best bet against someone who's been practicing magic for decades. Most of the people in your year can't cast a half-way decent stunner, let alone spells like this. Trust me, if the moment comes you'll be fine."

"You Hufflepuffs are always so bloody optimistic."

"It's part of our charm," Cedric said.

* * *

The desk was gone. Not melted, not half destroyed, not broken into little pieces, not even vanished. It was just broken down at some infinitesimally small level, its mass deconstructed. Harry looked over at Cedric, shocked. The older boy looked down at his wand, as if it was possessed of qualities he had never even dreamed of.

"Not bad. Could be better, but not a bad start," Harry said.

Noting the challenge in his tone, Cedric said, "Let me see you cast it then, you mighty third year."

Harry cracked his knuckles and then raised his wand at one of the chairs. Cedric tried to object, saying that the desk had been much harder to destroy than a chair would be, but Harry waved away his protestations.

" _Exstirpo_ ," Harry said. A thin beam, almost too bright to watch, harpooned to the chair and, as soon as it connected, destroyed it as completely as it had the desk.

"It's not even hard to cast," Cedric said.

"Odd," Harry said, pleased with himself. If the spell could do that much without any practice, Harry wondered what it would do when he had put some time into it. Mostly, he wondered what it would do if cast on a person. Would Black just fall apart like the chair, atomized? Or would it be slower, more painful, as torturous as disintegration could be? The human body was, after all, much more complex than a chair. More there to be destroyed.

He knew that he would have to improve the spell if it were to have real combat utility. The beam was too slow for someone with sharp reflexes not to block it with a shield. Practice with the spell would help to speed it up, as if Harry were becoming faster on the draw. Then it would be a weapon dangerous even to Black.

"Very odd. Everything I've ever read says that the power of a spell is directly correlated with the difficulty of learning that spell. A curse like this should be an incredibly difficult spell for us to even get to work, let alone work so well that it evaporates furniture on our first try."

"Maybe we're just that talented," Harry said. He wasn't sure why Cedric was complaining. Surely it was better that they had gotten the spell to work than having to struggle for days to master it. A few more tries (Cedric would have to conjure some more furniture for them to work with) and Harry was confident that he could have the spell down pat.

"Maybe, but I doubt it. It reminds me about what my dad told me about the Unforgivables. They're easy to cast for how powerful they are but their use comes with a cost." Cedric said this imitating his father's voice, a deep, moralizing bass.

"Unforgivables?"

"They're the darkest spells. There are three of them. One that causes unimaginable pain, one that controls the mind of another person, and one that kills someone instantly, with no chance to deflect or block it."

"It's unblockable?" Harry asked. It sounded like the kind of spell that he would want to use on Black. In fact, it sounded like the perfect kind of spell in general. If you were going to defend yourself from a killer it didn't make sense to take half-measures.

Cedric nodded gravely. "Yes, the Killing Curse. The darkest spell there is. No shield will ward it off. There's only one known survivor." He gestured toward Harry's scar.

"It's easy to perform?" Harry asked.

"Relative to what they do, yeah. Still takes more than the average student can do but with the spells we've been studying I'm sure we could. But we never would. To use an Unforgivable on another human being, no matter who they are, carries a lifetime sentence to Azkaban."

Harry could tell that Cedric was trying to warn him away, and he went through the motions to seem outwardly chastised, but he couldn't help but think that the Killing Curse was the perfect solution. A surprise attack with an unblockable spell would even the odds between him and Black. If he could surprise Black with something like that the man wouldn't have a chance.

He knew that months ago he would have thought the use of such a spell anathema, but every time he thought about Black he couldn't help but picture his parents as they died; his father as he tried to protect his mother, and his mother as she tried to protect him, until all that was left was him and a flash of green light, and then nothing. No family, just him.

No spell was too awful for Sirius Black.

"Promise me you won't go looking for those spells. The reason I agreed to help you with these is because you are in danger. But that doesn't mean we should give up and sink to the level of You-Know-Who. Ends matter, but so do means."

"I agree," Harry said. "What else do we have to work on?"

Cedric still seemed suspicious, but he shuffled through their papers. "Ignoring the potions, which you don't seem interested in, we have two spells called The Silver Spear and Entrails-Expelling Curse. No extra guesses on what the last one does."

"The first one sounds interesting," Harry said. "The Silver Spear. A bit melodramatic, don't you think?"

"From this description it looks like it was designed mainly for use against monsters," Cedric said.

"I run into my fair share of monsters. I say we try it out. Doesn't sound as threatening as the Entrails-Expelling Curse."

"No denying that," Cedric said.

They both tried the spell to little success. It was difficult to get the shape of the spell right. The spear needed to keep its shape, be propelled, and be guided by the caster, all at roughly the same time. Harry could get a rough looking shaft propelled away from him but it dissolved into nothingness as soon as it got a few feet away.

Cedric was having the opposite problem. He could form a distinct spear without much trouble but couldn't get the propulsion required for it to have any effect. As they practiced Cedric had more success than Harry, who ascribed that somewhat sullenly to his greater experience. They both gave up out of frustration after the first dozen attempts. It was nearing time for dinner anyway, and they had both promised their friends that they would return to the common room in time to walk down with them.

Harry's alibi the last few times he had met with Cedric was that he was doing research in the library. It was big enough that even if Ron or Hermione went looking for him he could claim they were just looking in the wrong spot. Cedric, with a smile, said that he told his friends the truth. Not the whole studying dark magic bit, but that he was helping Harry Potter with magic. They were suitably impressed, of course. Harry knew that the sole reason Cedric told him that was to try to embarrass him.

"This time next week?" Cedric asked.

"If I can't make it I'll let you know." There was no way that he wouldn't be practicing the two spells before they met again, Harry knew. There was too much potential there for him to slow down, even for Cedric. Once a week wasn't enough time dedicated to preparation for Black.

* * *

"Can I get a quill from your bag, Harry?" Hermione asked. "I just broke the tip of mine."

Harry assented absently, writing the last lines of his essay on the Freezing Spell for Flitwick. It was supposed to be a foot long but Harry's was a bit short. And written in large, looping letters. Deciding that it was good enough Harry blew on the ink and rolled it up, tapping it with his wand to seal it.

"What are these?" Hermione asked. In her hands were Harry's previous essays for his classes. He had neglected to remove them from his bag, stuffing them down beneath his books and then forgetting about them. At a glance he saw three Dreadfuls, two Poors, and a glittering Acceptable, though that was in Lupin's class and Harry had the impression that Lupin was grading him leniently.

"Looks like parchment to me," Harry said.

Ron looked up from his essay at what Hermione was holding. "Blimey, Harry. And I thought I wasn't doing well in Snape's class."

Most of the worst grades were from Snape. Harry could only assume that it was with some relish that Snape gave him failing grades. It justified the idea of him that Snape had had for all of his time at Hogwarts.

"I had no idea you were doing so poorly," Hermione said, aghast. For her, this would be tantamount to finding skeletons in his closet, Harry thought, with some amusement.

"I was just struggling for a while," Harry said. This wasn't something that Hermione would forget anytime soon. Any attempt to deflect would probably only make her more upset.

Hermione put down the essays, came over to Harry, and picked up his recently completed essay, unsealing and reading it. Her eyes widened as she skimmed through it.

"Harry, this is _awful_ ," Hermione said. "It's not even long enough. There's no way Flitwick can pass you for this."

"So you're saying I should stop bothering to hand anything in," Harry said. Ron snickered.

"How can you joke about this? Don't you care about your grades at all?" Hermione asked. She looked to be on the verge of tears and Harry immediately felt guilty. The truth was that he didn't care about his grades. He didn't see how they mattered at all. O.W.L.s were what actually mattered and he was confident that his practical work could compensate for his abysmal theoretical work. At least in the classes he cared about, anyway. There was no way he was continuing potions at the O.W.L. level.

"It's just a few essays," Harry said. "I'll try harder now. I've been focusing on other things."

"Like what?" Hermione demanded. Ron looked curious as well. He and Harry had never been the best students but for them to receive failing grades was a rarity. Consistent mediocrity was the key, Ron had joked once.

"You know how the dementors affect me?" They nodded. "Well I asked Professor Lupin to help me learn the Patronus Charm. It's the spell that shields you against dementors, drives them away. It's hard though. High level magic. They don't even teach it to N.E.W.T. students. I've been working with Lupin on it since before Christmas and I still don't have it mastered. Most of my time has been spent working on that instead of my other classes."

"That's not a reason to give up on all of your other work," Hermione said. She sounded less confident though, and Harry pressed on.

"It is. I nearly died the last time I was around dementors. If Dumbledore hadn't been at the quidditch match I would have died. They may be here to protect us but so far they've been more of a threat to me than Sirius Black. I need to learn this spell."

"Why didn't you tell us about it?" Ron asked.

"I didn't want you two to think the dementors were getting to me," Harry said. Ron's question did make him wonder why he had been cutting Hermione and Ron out of the loop. As the year went on it seemed that he had begun accumulating secrets; every passing month there was less that Ron and Hermione knew about him. With his training with Cedric it was obvious. He didn't want them to insist on coming with him and slowing him down in the beginning. And now, with the kind of magic they were studying, Ron and Hermione had to be kept away at all costs.

He knew they wouldn't approve. But they were his best friends. If he couldn't tell them what was going on him with him then it wasn't really a friendship. He felt conflicted, driven by his natural impulses toward safety and honesty that advocated two different paths. Ron and Hermione had never been hunted by a traitorous mass murderer, Harry thought. It wasn't reasonable to expect them to understand the lengths he had to go to. It was a pipe dream to hope they would.

"You know you can tell us anything," Hermione said.

"It's not like we're going to judge you about dementors," Ron said. "Have you seen me around spiders?"

Harry smiled. "And Hermione around failing grades."

"Even worse," Ron said.

Hermione acted affronted, but Harry could tell that she was pleased he was opening up to them.

"You've just seemed distant lately," she said. "Spending less time with us and when you do it doesn't seem like you're that focused. Like you're always thinking about something."

She wanted him to go further, say more, but Harry put an end to that line of questioning. "I'll try to do better," he said.

Ron was satisfied, turning back to finish his essay, but Hermione wasn't placated. It was as if she knew that she had only scraped the surface, taken from Harry what he wanted her to see. Harry was pained by her mistrust; a mistrust that he knew he had helped to create. It wasn't reasonable of him to expect Hermione to just understand why he was wasn't as close to them, but he doubted that she would understand even if he tried to understand. The rage Harry felt about Black, the twining of his treasured pictures of his parents with Black's screaming face, was more than he could take. The only peace he would know would be when Black was gone.

"I think we should work on your essay for Flitwick," Hermione said.

"Can't we wait for my turnaround to start until after this essay?" Harry asked.

"Better do what she says," Ron advised. "If there's one thing Hermione's serious about it's our essays."

Hermione ignored both of them. She unrolled Harry's essay and waved her wand over it. The words fluttered on the page for a second, then slowly unfixed themselves from the parchment and coalesced into a ball of ink which Hermione siphoned back into Harry's inkwell.

"Theoretical magic is important, Harry," Hermione said.

"I know."

"You'll learn to cast spells faster and better if you understand the theoretical aspect."

"I know."

"They wouldn't teach it to us if it didn't matter."

"I know, Hermione."

"Alright then. Let's start Flitwick's essay, and we'll do it right this time."

Harry put his quill to the blank parchment, letting Hermione's voice drift off and become an ignorable drone while he rephrased, in a less laconic way, what he had written for his previous draft of the essay.

It could be annoying to let Hermione dictate to him, but overall he was just happy that people cared. Ron was building a house of exploding cards, glancing over every now and then as if he were glad that it was Harry that was receiving the bulk of Hermione's attention and not him. Hermione was talking as much to herself as she was to Harry, not even looking directly at him, her mind turned inward, regurgitating everything she knew about the Freezing Spell and expecting that Harry would reformat the information into a coherent essay, a skill he had managed to develop quite well through his friendship with Hermione.

His friends had their aggravating idiosyncrasies, but Harry was glad for them. Loneliness was more painful than some mild nagging.

* * *

The crowd roared their approval as Wood blocked another shot from the Ravenclaw captain. The Hufflepuffs were cheering on the Gryffindors, wanting nothing more than to not end up in last place in the quidditch cup, while the Slytherins were hoping that Ravenclaw would drag Gryffindor down, leaving them a clear run to the cup.

Beneath him, the Firebolt hummed with effortlessly contained energy, waiting for the slightest touch to accelerate. It had taken Harry some time to become accustomed to the speed and dynamism of the broom. It was faster, lighter, and smoother than his Nimbus had been. Really, it was better in every way and a significant advantage over every other quidditch player at Hogwarts. Nobody else had a Firebolt, with most settling for various Cleansweeps or older Nimbuses. The Slytherins came the closest with their Nimbus 2001s.

Cho was drifting on the other side of the pitch. She was flying a Cleansweep. As soon as she saw that Harry was flying a Firebolt she adjusted her strategy. Most seekers at Hogwarts would stick close to one another, eliciting a chase when the snitch revealed itself. But with Harry's speed advantage on his Firebolt Cho had realized that her only hope of winning the match for Ravenclaw was to have such a lead on Harry that even on his Firebolt he couldn't catch up. That meant, however, that Cho was relying on the snitch appearing near her and not near Harry. Who won would come down to chance if things remained the way they were.

The match was well in hand. Gryffindor could match Ravenclaw in any position, if not handily outclass them, and they were developing a healthy lead. Wood was blocking most of Ravenclaw's best shots and the Weasley twins were hounding the Ravenclaw chasers. The seekers were being left alone by the beaters on either team. The Ravenclaw beaters were being forced to spend all of their time defending their chasers from the Weasley twins, who were whooping and hollering as they smashed the bludgers around the pitch.

Harry was scanning the pitch for any sign of the snitch. The sun was shining, which would help him locate the telltale glint of the snitch. It had been laying low so far, not revealing itself even once, as if it was aware of Harry's new broom's capabilities and was being cautious. Harry began to drift closer to where Cho was, careful to stay out of the way over the other players and the bludgers. He was trying to be subtle about it. Far away from Cho they had an even chance of winning. If he got close enough to her then his odds were greatly enhanced. She couldn't match him for speed.

She didn't notice what he was doing, too busy looking for any sign of the snitch. After a few minutes, Harry closed the gap between them to about ten yards. He thought that would give him enough time to close Cho down, even if the snitch appeared closer to her.

That was when she rocketed off away from him. Harry cursed, unsure if she saw the snitch or had just noticed that he was getting closer to her. He pursued, pushing the Firebolt to its acceleration limits. He was closing the gap between her, but not fast enough.

Ahead of Cho was the flapping snitch. It seemed oblivious to the danger it was in, an easy target for Cho.

At the last moment the snitch plummeted to the turf, just managing to evade Cho's grasping hand. She yelled in frustration and gave chase. As if in a synchronized motion, she and Harry both bulleted after the snitch, shooting to the ground at almost perfect 90 degree angles. They hunched over their brooms, trying to eliminate as much wind resistance as possible. They were head to head, and then Harry began to lead her, his smaller frame providing a slight advantage, further compounded by his Firebolt.

The snitch cut to the left before it hit the ground. Harry couldn't turn without smashing into Cho. She wasn't moving out of his way. She looked over at him, her eyes defiant, and Harry knew that she wasn't going to get out of his way. Cho couldn't win in a race against him, so she wouldn't race him at all. He would have to pull up or smash into the ground, like a game of chicken. Either way he would lose the snitch.

So Harry did neither. Laying himself as flat on the Firebolt as possible he flipped underneath Cho, still going at the broom's max speed, and came out on her left. The crowd boomed, cries of disbelief and praise mixing equally. Giving himself only a second to adjust, Harry returned to his normal riding pose and pulled out of the dive, only a few meters separating him from a grisly collision with the ground.

The snitch was still darting off to the left, but Harry was sure he could catch it. He could hear Cho behind him but he knew she wouldn't be able to catch up in time.

A few more moments of chasing and there was only an arm's length separating him from the snitch. Harry had his hand held out, stretching as far as he dared, the distance between him and the snitch closing, closing, closing, until it was nearly in his palm.

Then he was hit. The hurt of the bludger didn't really register at first. It was just a hollowness in his chest, a broken feeling, but not painful. Harry realized, dimly, that he was only half on the broom, his legs encircling it but his arms hanging loosely toward the ground along with his head and torso. If he relaxed his legs he would plummet to the ground.

He could see Cho looking at him as she flew by, determined yet sympathetic, and Harry hated her. He wasn't aware enough to be sure why, but as she flew past he hated her. The screaming of the crowd didn't register in his ears. The Weasley twins were flying toward him, looking terrified.

With the last vestiges of strength that Harry could muster he hoisted himself back on his broom using his legs. The movement made his chest burn, both constricted and hot, a feeling Harry associated with serious internal damage, and Harry was gasping, tears rolling from his eyes, as he made it upright.

Half of the crowd was sitting in silence, stunned by the turn of events, the other half was cheering as loudly as they could. The Slytherin/Ravenclaw half. Cho was flying around the stadium, the snitch held aloft in her hand, urging her triumphant supporters to greater heights. She didn't look back at Harry.

Fred and George flew alongside Harry and escorted him to the ground, careful not to jostle him. Pomfrey and Hooch were waiting for him.

"She shouldn't get to win like that," Harry said, not quite sure who it was directed to. Nobody responded. Fred and George were, for once, not sure what to say. Hooch looked understanding but unyielding. Pomfrey, typically, didn't care at all about the match. She was fussing around Harry, casting spells and jabbing at his ribs.

Her prodding didn't hurt, so Harry figured that she had fixed whatever the problem was. The pain cleared out of his system, but the bitterness didn't.

"You're lucky, Mr. Potter. The bludger only fractured your ribs, it didn't break them. Any more force behind the impact and you'd be staying with me in the hospital wing overnight," Pomfrey said.

"Thanks," Harry said, curt.

He walked away from them but was intercepted by Wood before he could get off the pitch.

"It's not your fault," Wood said. "Fred and George were supposed to be keeping track of the bludgers. A few seconds more and we would have won the game."

Wood didn't seem concerned about Harry's injury. He was more focused on the fact that they had lost the game. To win the cup now would demand a perfect winning streak and for Slytherin to lose at least one game.

"Poor sportsmanship on Cho's part though," Wood said. He glanced down at Harry's ribs and, seeing nothing the matter there, said, "You could've been seriously injured or fallen from your broom. Dumbledore was here but I think it would be better not to wager on Dumbledore catching you every time you fall."

"Yeah," Harry said.

Seeing that Harry wasn't interested in talking anymore, Wood said, "I'll see you at practice then." He walked over to Fred and George, presumably to yell at them for not keeping their eyes on the bludgers. Harry didn't stick around to find out.

Angry at Cho and himself, Harry decided to go practice the Disintegrating Curse. He had gotten better at it, but it could still use work. In the mood he was in there would be nothing more cathartic than reducing furniture to its composite elements. Harry could count on one hand the number of quidditch games Gryffindor had lost in which he was playing. Losing at something he cared about, something that all of his peers cared about and respected him for, stung.

Harry made it out of the quidditch stadium before most of the other students. The few that were on the path gave him a wide berth. His wand was in one hand, Firebolt in the other. Talking to someone wasn't something he was interested in at the moment. He didn't trust himself not to start screaming. To lose because you were outplayed was one thing; to lose because your teammates let you down and there was nothing you could do about it was another. The student body might know, rationally, that it was Fred and George's fault, but it was Harry's failure they had seen. It was Harry they had seen get clobbered from his broom.

Rather than going to the room he practiced in with Cedric, Harry went to another abandoned classroom, one that he had found months before, that was more out of the way. It was smaller than the one he and Cedric used, but it didn't need to be big to match his purpose.

There was nobody in there. He cast the usual Silencing Charm on the door and then turned to the neat row of desks in the back of the classroom. Harry spared a brief thought to how useful it was that every classroom had those desks.

The Disintegrating Curse flowed from his wand with more ease than it ever had before. It was faster, stronger. There was no delay between the last syllable falling from his lips and the beam touching the chair. It was gratifying instant destruction. Harry forgot the quidditch match; he forgot Cho's unconcern; he forgot the reaction of the school. The world had condensed until it was just the room, Harry, and a row of desks waiting to be eviscerated.

Somewhere along the line, Black's face came to his mind. His casting became even more frantic, his voice cracking. Black was laughing. At him? Maybe his parents. All that mattered was the Black was laughing and Harry knew curses, curses that could make him stop laughing, and he let them fly, those curses, smashing the desks to bits with every powerful spell he knew in a blind rage until there was only charred kindling and particle matter left.

"Harry," Hermione said, tentative, as if afraid. Of him, perhaps.

He turned around. She must have entered when his back was turned, Harry thought. The fight that was in him vanished. There was no more blind anger. Black's laughing face crawled back into the recesses of his mind.

"Sorry," Harry said, flatly. This changed things. Nobody had ever seen him like that before. He had never been like that before. He knew that. But he couldn't bring himself to care. Dark magic, Sirius Black, dementors, it was all too frustrating and Harry didn't want to think about it anymore. Even the things that had usually comforted him, like his friends and quidditch, had become nothing more than sources of stress on their own.

Hermione didn't say anything. She approached Harry slowly, as if he were a skittish animal, and wrapped her arms around him, a loose hug. He didn't hug her back, but that didn't appear to bother her.

"I'm not going to ask you if you're alright, because you clearly aren't. I'm not going to ask where you learned those spells, because that doesn't matter now. I just want you to know that whatever you're going through, you can trust me. You're the best friend I've ever had. If you need my help, I want to help you. With anything." Hermione's voice was partially muffled, situated against Harry' shoulder, but he could still hear the raw emotion in her words.

Harry supposed that he should respond in kind, some profusion of emotion or a heartfelt speech; but he couldn't. He was just tired. It might have been the spell, it might have been the accumulated stress of Sirius Black, but he didn't want to have to deal with anything at that moment. Harry wondered when Hogwarts had become a place that made him feel worse than the Dursley's.

Rather than try to match Hermione for emotional impact, Harry opted for the truth. He told Hermione about Black, and how Harry couldn't stop thinking about him. He told her that he was stuck on the Patronus Charm and how he was afraid because he couldn't protect himself from them either. He told Hermione about Cedric, and them training together, and stealing spells from the restricted section, powerful magic. Dark magic.

At some point during his explanation Hermione detached from him and stared at him as he mechanically listed what he had spent the last few months doing, how he had changed since Christmas break.

When he finished, Hermione said, "We shouldn't have left you during Christmas break. You should have come home with Ron or me. Fear grows in the dark, and we left you alone. I'm sorry, Harry."

Harry didn't say anything else for a minute. His confession left him drained, as if his anger at Black had been propelling him and now that he had confessed it was gone and he was being propelled only by inertia. One little stumble and he would collapse.

He knew he had to say one thing though. "I can't stop, Hermione. I should have told you and Ron what I was doing, but that doesn't mean I can stop. Black is still out there, he's still dangerous, and he's still coming after me. If I can't protect myself, I don't think I'll make it. And I don't…well, I don't want to die."

It was a horrible thing to say out loud, and by saying it the possibility that Harry had never really conceived of as existing before became terribly real, a monstrous specter that had been waiting in the dark that was finally revealed. Death.

Hermione wasn't any happier than Harry was. "Don't say that. You'll be fine. We'll stay in the castle and you won't go wandering off. Black wouldn't try anything in front of the all of us."

Harry laughed but it was devoid of any real humor. "He killed Pettigrew and twelve muggles with one spell. You think schoolchildren are going to stop him? No, they're not. Closing my eyes and hoping isn't going to help me. I need to prepare."

"But dark magic, Harry," Hermione said desperately. "It does horrible things to people. I've read stories. Good people, who were just trying to do the right thing, twisted by it. The ends don't justify the means because the means will twist and pervert the ends. You'll start wanting just to protect yourself from Black and you'll end somewhere else. Somewhere darker."

Cedric had said something to similar to him, but he seemed to agree with Harry. Protecting yourself should be your first priority. "I'm not saying you're wrong, Hermione. I'm just saying that if I die, any fears we have about me going mad, or evil, are pointless. If I survive, then we can worry about things like that. Besides, that's why I keep you around. To nag me if it looks like I'm turning into Voldemort." Harry tried a joke but it fell flat even to his ears.

"Promise me that you'll stop keeping secrets. We can only help you if you stop keeping secrets."

"I promise," Harry said. He hoped that he wasn't giving Hermione false hope.

Hermione gave him a small smile, her eyes still teary. "Good. We should get back to the tower then. Ron's probably wondering where we are."

"Can you tell him?" Harry asked. "I just don't have the energy to do it again." The idea of admitting all of it to Ron, right after he had done so to Hermione, was a prospect he didn't relish. He doubted that Ron's reaction would be any better than Hermione's. It could even be worse. Harry didn't suppose that the Weasley family took kindly to dark magic in general, and Ron was more like his family than he cared to admit.

"I'll tell him," Hermione said. "He'll have questions though, and he'll want to talk to you."

"Then I'll talk to him and answer his questions. But it's been a pretty terrible day and I'm tired," Harry said.

"Alright," Hermione said, nodding.

They walked back to the tower in a melancholy silence. Harry was aware that their relationship had changed. The first elements of distrust were there, and he had been the one to sow them. The three of them had been a unit, there had been a covenant of trust that he had relied on, but now it was gone. He wasn't sure how that would change things but he knew that their friendship was something he never wanted to lose. They were the closest thing to a real family he had ever had.

Sirius Black had changed things, Harry reflected. He was like a wave crashing over Hogwarts, bringing conflict, dark magic, and dementors. If not for him Harry supposed that he would going about his life as usual; helping Hermione with Buckbeak's trial, slacking in classes with Ron, and focusing on the quidditch season; it would be lovely, he thought. Instead he was knee deep into magic he didn't understand and that his closest friends reviled.

When they got back to the tower Hermione went over to Ron, who was playing chess with Colin Creevey, and disrupted their game, dragging Ron out of the common room. Ron spared Harry an inquisitive glance as he was led away. Harry gave no outward reaction.

He went upstairs and got in bed. His shoes came off, and then his glasses. He lay in bed, on top of the covers, still dressed. His wand was placed by his beside, in its usual position. Harry drew the curtains. None of the other boys were in the room and it was quiet, the sound of the common room almost entirely muffled. Harry slept fitfully, his last thought of Ron and Hermione, and the damage that he had done to their friendship.

* * *

Ron's scream woke Harry. He was groggy for a second, his mind not recognizing the origin of the scream, but then he was alert, scrambling for his wand and pulling open the curtains around his bed.

A mangy man with a knife stood beside Ron's bed, one hand on Ron's mouth. Even without his glasses Harry knew who it was. Black.

Black turned toward Harry, the sound of the sliding bed curtains warning him before Harry could get the spell off.

" _Exstirpo_!" Harry shouted. All of the rules of dueling Cedric had imparted to him were nothing, only so much white noise in his ears, ignored in the face of the grim figure that had plagued so many of Harry's dreams.

The beam was focused and fast. It would have hit had Black's reflexes not been so quick. He swatted the spell away, letting it hit the wall, taking a large chunk out of the masonry, before he swung his wand in a continuation of the same motion, producing a blinding light that Harry hadn't been prepared for.

His vision spotted for a few seconds. The other boys in the room were yelling, having been awakened by the screams and the fight. Harry was out of bed, his vision still clearing. Black was gone and Harry was down the stairs after him, pushing curious students out of his way as he pursued.

Harry caught a blurry glimpse of Black in the doorway. Without his glasses Harry was at a severe disadvantage but he didn't give himself time to consider that. By the time he got to where he had seen Black all he saw was a trailing flap of the filthy black robes that Black was wearing heading around a corner. Harry charged after him, rage filled, all of his animosity toward Black having been pushed in one instant to the surface, making coherent thought nearly impossible.

All that was in Harry's mind was his parents, Black, and revenge. He didn't have room for what would happen if he caught up to Black, the danger he would be in. All he knew was that Black had to pay and Harry had a chance to make that happen.

In one long corridor that branched off of the Entrance Hall Harry saw Black. He leveled his wand, careful, making sure he wouldn't miss, and said, " _Confringo_." Black, having heard Harry, darted to the side at the last moment. The spell hit the floor near Black, sending him and chunks of stone flying.

The Blasting Curse had landed behind where Black was so that the explosion had taken him farther away from Harry. Harry sprinted down the long corridor but Black had already shuffled to his feet before Harry closed the distance between them.

With one look back Black transformed. Where he had stood there was a black dog; a grim. It was faster than Black had been, bolting away from Harry, leaving behind a small trail of blood from some wound Black had sustained from the curse.

Before he could give chase again, Harry heard voices behind him and an arm landed on his shoulder. Harry whirled around, his wand coming up between them. Lupin raised his arms unthreateningly.

"He's gone, Harry. You're safe," Lupin said.

Some measure of order was returning to Harry's thoughts. Frustration and fear mingled together. He was alive, but Black had shown that he could get into the castle. He was alive, but so was Black. He was alive, but now Black knew what he was capable of. The element of surprise had been lost to him because he had been impatient and thoughtless.

"You said that you would know if Black got into the castle," Harry said. "That the map would tell you."

"Dumbledore and I weren't able to charm the map to alert us to Black's presence. We keep an eye on it, but it isn't foolproof. As we saw tonight," Lupin said, looking down the corridor to where Harry's Blasting Curse had impacted.

"He'll be wary around me now. Whatever surprise I would have had is gone now."

"You'll have to be more careful from now on. Stay with larger groups. Black has shown he's able to get into the castle.

"He's an animagus, professor. He transformed into some kind of dog when he was running away. You were friends with him. Did you know?" Harry couldn't help the accusatory note that slipped into his voice.

"I did," Lupin admitted. "We could all transform. The four of us."

"And you never told anyone that he was an animagus?" Harry asked.

"No. I had my reasons, though they may not be good ones. It's likely that he was able to get out of Azkaban because of his animagus abilities."

"And into Hogwarts."

Lupin hesitated, and then said, "And Hogwarts. I'll be discussing this with Dumbledore as soon as I can. Don't judge me too harshly, Harry. 'We learn from failure, not from success.'"

Harry had trusted Lupin; he was the one who had been spending his time teaching Harry, telling him about his parents. He was the best teacher Harry had ever had. For him to have been cradling a secret that could have gotten him killed was nothing less than a betrayal, intended or not. From the way Lupin was slouching, a defeated stance, he knew what Harry was thinking. He knew that he was to blame.

"He held a knife to Ron," Harry said, almost conversationally.

"I promise you, Hogwarts will be safe from Black. We will find out how he got in and stop it from happening again," Lupin said.

"I hope so."

McGonagall turned the corner and saw Lupin and Harry.

"The rest of the students are being escorted to the Great Hall," she said to Lupin. "The headmaster would like you to meet him on the grounds."

Lupin strode off, regaining some of his former confidence through a sense of renewed purpose. Harry watched him go. It seemed that the only relationship he had left that hadn't been changed was with Cedric. And the Dursleys, he thought, but they didn't really count.

"Mr. Potter, I have some questions for you," McGonagall said.

"Professor?"

"I haven't spoken to any of your classmates yet. There wasn't time to do anything except to ensure that nobody was hurt. It was incredibly risky of you to chase Black like that. I can't believe that I have to remind you, of all people, that Sirius Black is dangerous."

"I know, professor. I wasn't thinking. He held a knife to Ron and I was just…angry," Harry said.

McGonagall was usually moved by examples of devotion and friendship; she showed no such emotion to Harry. "There was spell damage above Mr. Weasley's bed. Damage consistent with powerful magic, and not the kind we teach at Hogwarts. Could you explain how a section of your room has been utterly destroyed?"

"He deflected a spell I cast," Harry said. Admitting to using the Disintegration Curse was the last thing he would do. He wasn't sure what Hogwarts' policy was on dark magic, but he doubted that it was lenient. Admitting to using a spell that had been filched from the restricted section without a pass after curfew would land him in a considerable amount of trouble.

"And what spell would that be, Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asked. Strictness was something students became accustomed to with McGonagall. Real frustration, a sense of her impending loss of patience, was not.

"Honestly, I don't remember, professor. Everything happened so fast. I woke to Ron screaming and everything after that was just instinct, like quidditch. I wasn't thinking at all until Professor Lupin caught up to me."

Harry forced himself to look at McGonagall steadily, like he had nothing to hide. It was to his advantage that third year Gryffindors weren't usually suspected of using the kind of magic he had used. To be fair, third years generally didn't have the kind of private tutoring he had been given. Lupin and Cedric were both gifted teachers in their own rights.

"I see," McGonagall said. She was utterly unconvinced. "We will continue this conversation. For now, I have to see to the safety of your peers. Don't think this is the end of this. Go to the Great Hall," she ordered.

Harry was fine with complying. The less time he had to be subjected to McGonagall's questioning the better. He wasn't fool enough to believe that she was convinced by his explanation. It was, at best, shoddy. But better to be thought a liar than a budding dark wizard, Harry thought.

Half the school was already in the Great Hall when Harry arrived. Sleeping bags had been laid out, enough for the entire student body. All of Gryffindor was already there. Ron and Hermione waved Harry over.

"What happened to Black?" Ron asked. He was wearing maroon pajamas with wild bedhead. It was a comic look, and Harry would have laughed if he were in a better mood.

"He got away, transformed into a dog. Looks like the grim. He's an animagus," Harry said.

"That's how he got out of Azkaban," Hermione said, with the quiet triumphant note that comes from finally figuring out the solution to an elusive problem.

"Yes. And I think I might be in trouble," Harry said, deciding to go with his new policy of complete truthfulness. "I used a spell that I shouldn't have when Black was in Gryffindor Tower."

"That would explain the chunk missing out of the ceiling," Ron said. Hermione looked aghast.

"There's no way to hide that," Hermione said. "It'll be obvious to anyone, especially the professors. What're you going to do?"

"I don't know," Harry said, trying to gauge Ron's reaction. He didn't seem overtly bothered by Harry's use of what could only be dark magic, but Harry thought he might still just be in shock. Having a mass murderer hold a knife to you was enough to shake anyone.

Ron noticed Harry's attention. "The way I figure it, he's got whatever happens to him coming."

Taking the tacit approval of his actions while it lasted, Harry said, "For what it's worth, I'm glad he didn't cut you into little ginger bits."

Ron snorted. "I'm just glad you missed me with that bloody curse. I know you can't see anything without your glasses. You had about the same chance of hitting me as hitting him."

"Please, I'm a highly trained seeker with impeccable hand-eye coordination. There was no way I was missing from that range."

"Sure you weren't," Ron said.

"That's nice and all, but shouldn't we be focusing on Harry's impending expulsion," Hermione said.

Harry and Ron looked at each other. "Always the optimistic one," Harry said.

"If you do get kicked out I'm sure Mum'll let you move into the Burrow," Ron said. "Probably move me out of my room so you have your own place."

"Well in that case I should've gotten kicked out ages ago. Your mum's a great cook," Harry said.

"Excuse me for trying to be proactive," Hermione said.

"There's nothing I can do at this point," Harry said, more seriously and with a hint of gloom. "The spell's been cast, the tower is sealed off, and McGonagall's already seen the evidence. It's pretty obvious from my point of view. There aren't any spells in the Hogwarts' curriculum that destroy enormous sections of stone without leaving anything but a light coat of dust behind."

Neither Ron nor Hermione had anything to say to that.

"Dumbledore won't kick you out," Ron said.

"Not with Black on the loose," Hermione said.

"And Malfoy's dad isn't on the Board of Governors anymore. There's nobody who hates your guts and wants you gone."

Hermione elbowed Ron for his tactlessness but Harry did feel better. They were right. Nobody was hurt. Harry could even make a case that he had saved Ron's life and driven off a mass murderer. Sure, he shouldn't have used the spell he did, but that wasn't an expulsion worthy offence, surely. Just detention. Loads and loads of detention. Probably with Snape. Harry sighed.

Flitwick stood in front of the full Great Hall and said, with the aid of the Sonorous Charm, "Now that we're all assembled here, I would ask that you all try to get some sleep. It's been an exciting night but I don't see any reason that classes would be canceled for tomorrow. Prefects will be operating in shifts to monitor the Great Hall and professors will be patrolling the halls. You have nothing to fear."

On that note Flitwick left the Great Hall as well, leaving only the prefects inside. They tried, with varying degrees of success, to get their charges to at least pretend to be sleeping. To pacify Percy the three of them got into their sleeping bags. The lights in the Great Hall dimmed and the noise dropped to the thrum of a hundred whispers.

"Harry," Ron said.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. You probably saved my life. Guess that's two of the Weasleys that owe you now."

Harry didn't respond and he could hear Ron begin to snore a few minutes later, his near death experience doing nothing to diminish his ability to sleep.

If saving Ron's life was the price Harry had to pay to keep their friendship going strong then it was one he was willing to pay, but he couldn't shake the feeling that if Black hadn't come, and Harry hadn't tried to curse him, he and Ron would've had a falling out. Saving Ron was like an artificial crutch, masking a deeper flaw in their relationship that couldn't help but make itself known at a later date. Siding over a crack didn't mean a crack was gone. Even with that disquieting thought, Harry was glad that his friends were still by his side.

He wondered what Cedric would think of the night's events. Resolving to tell the older boy as soon as he could to make sure that he didn't hear a bastardized rumor, Harry drifted off to a sleep that was, remarkably, untroubled by thoughts of Sirius Black.


	4. Chapter 4

Lupin had been noticeably cooler to Harry since the incident with Black. Their confrontation in the hallway had made them uncomfortable around each other; the ease they had built up diminished in the face of what Harry thought of as an unforgivable withholding of information. Lupin had put people in danger and they both knew it. Harry was angry and Lupin was ashamed.

That didn't mean that Harry immediately gave up on his lessons with Lupin. Whatever their differences it remained important for Harry to master the Patronus Charm, for his own sake if nothing else. The nature of their relationship had changed though. The anecdotes about his parents had stopped, replaced by mechanical instructions. Lupin's personable teaching style had been transmuted into one more befitting Snape. There was, Harry thought, a component of guilt in the transformation. Lupin wasn't mad at Harry for his accusations so much as he was angry at himself and uncomfortable around Harry, knowing that he had failed in his responsibility as a teacher and protector.

He no doubt wanted some sign of forgiveness from Harry, but that was something Harry wasn't yet ready to give. Mistakes were one thing, but Lupin had put nearly the entire school at risk because he wanted to hide a secret from his own days at Hogwarts. There was a case to be made for criminal liability if word got out that he hadn't told the ministry about Black's animagus form. Harry found his unwillingness to tell anyone about it baffling. Surely Lupin would have known the risk he was taking by keeping it a secret. The only reason Harry could think of for Lupin to withhold the information was that it was a cover for another, darker, secret. Harry didn't have any idea of what that could be though.

The first session he had with Lupin after Black infiltrated the castle didn't begin like his usual sessions. Rather than having the cabinet in the back of his office and everything else in its usual spot, Lupin had moved everything to a corner, each item piled on top of another, creating a rickety leaning tower of furniture that had to have been held up with some charm. It was the perfect setup for a dueling arena, Harry thought when he first saw it.

Without preamble, Lupin said: "You chased Black. Whatever wrong I did by not telling the ministry and Dumbledore about Black's animagus form, and that wrong is considerable, does not change the fact that what you did was quite possibly the most idiotic decision I have ever seen in my life. You, a third year student, chased a deranged mass murderer whose sole goal since escaping the most secure prison in the world has been to kill you, through the halls of Hogwarts. If he hadn't been so terrified of being captured, of coming face-to-face with Dumbledore, you would be dead. You may think you can stand a chance against adult wizards. You are wrong. Whatever illicit magic you have been studying isn't a match for even the most barely competent adult duelist."

Lupin sounded angry and his appearance was haggard, as if he hadn't been getting enough sleep. His movements were stiff. Harry thought that he looked like he was in pain. Aunt Petunia complained of aching joints sometimes but Lupin looked like every joint in his body was on fire. Lupin had never looked particularly robust, but he was looking even more sickly than usual.

Harry said nothing, his face a stony mask in the midst of Lupin's disappointed tirade. His anger at the man outweighed whatever effect it would have had on him. Lupin saw that Harry wasn't listening to him and his expression hardened.

"You're stubborn and angry. That means that there's only one way to get through to you," Lupin said.

He drew his wand and stood opposite Harry, at the far end of the office. The room warped around Harry, expanding, lengthening, giving him a strange sense of vertigo as even the ground underneath him shifted outward. It was around the dimensions of a professional dueling ring when it stopped. Lupin didn't appear disconcerted by the changing room. Harry had to shake off some dizziness.

Lupin bowed to him. Harry, more hesitant, bowed back. Then Lupin attacked.

The first three spells came in the time it would have taken Harry to cast one. He recognized the first two, a stunner and a nastier curse that caused impermanent but painful blindness. The last one was a darting purple lance.

Harry was able to get the counterspell for the first two out before they hit him. He didn't risk trying to block the third, moving out of its way instead. Or so he thought. As Harry twisted to the right to avoid being hit, the spell swerved with him, without any visible movement on Lupin's part.

He was shocked and didn't move out of its way in time. The spell hit him directly on his chest and Harry could feel an icy sensation starting in his chest and spreading quickly, too quickly, through the rest of his body. Lupin didn't let up, continuing to send spells at Harry. All were non-verbal, so Harry had to shield and counter what he could and avoid the rest. That became increasingly difficult as Lupin's spell worked its way through Harry's body.

The icy sensation had started in his chest but spread, like a supercharged virus, through his extremities. First he lost all feeling in one arm, then a leg stopped responding. Harry was forced to throw himself bodily out of the way of one of Lupin's spells, generating the momentum with the whole of his body, unable to trust his limbs to do his bidding. He hit the ground hard, and lost sensation in his dominant arm. The sensation started working its way up Harry's throat and he began to panic. It became harder to breath. Lupin had stopped casting spells.

With the last of his strength, Harry let his wand drop to the ground. It clattered audibly on the cold stone floor. Lupin walked over and looked down on Harry. He didn't act victorious, or happy, or even satisfied; he had a rather disappointed expression on his face. It was the look of a man who has seen events spiral out of his control, and has no idea how to bring them back into line. He muttered an incantation and the icy sensation lifted from Harry's body. He sucked in as much air as he could, grabbing his wand and pushing himself to his feet as soon as he felt able.

"You're not invulnerable, Harry," Lupin said, his voice soft, almost pleading.

"I'm aware…professor," Harry said, the last word contemptuous. Lupin flinched and Harry walked past him, out of his office.

To try to make an example through violence wasn't something Harry had expected of Lupin. He had always seemed too calm for that. Illness was no excuse for that sort of thing. Even Snape didn't resort to physical torture. He had made plenty of students cry before, but he would never cast a spell on them that caused them to lose all the feeling in their body and made it hard to breathe. Harry had no illusions that it was a non-lethal spell. Lupin just ended it before it could do any real damage.

If Lupin had wanted to make a statement then he did. He showed just how unreliable he really was, how incapable he was of coping with high stress situations. Lupin meant well, Harry knew. He just lacked the capacity to put his principles into action. When blindsided he reacted badly, even instinctually.

It wasn't the kind of behavior Harry wanted from a mentor. He decided to stop going to Lupin's sessions. They hadn't been productive for some time anyway. Since his initial breakthrough with the Patronus Charm he had only made incremental progress and Cedric could teach him any other spells he wanted to know. Together they had moved past whatever Lupin was willing to teach him.

Unfortunately, Lupin wasn't the only one who wanted to make a point with Harry. After one of his Transfiguration lessons McGonagall asked him to stay after class. He figured that she was going to tell him what his punishment was. Since he hadn't been called into the headmaster's office he figured it wasn't expulsion but that didn't mean it wouldn't still be awful.

The first thing McGonagall said was, "You're not in trouble, Potter. You reacted badly, yes, but you were in…extenuating circumstances. Needless to say, should any faculty discover that you are inappropriately using such spells then swift and appropriate action will be taken. Am I understood?"

"Yes, professor," Harry said. Inwardly he was rejoicing. No detentions with Snape, no cross examination as to where he found the spells, no punishment at all. A part of him felt validated; it was almost as if the professors were admitting that dark magic could be used for noble purposes. That the ends mattered more than the means. If they weren't even bothering to punish him, to reel in what they perceived as bad behavior, then his behavior couldn't be too bad. If it were that awful certainly they would do something.

From one of her drawers McGonagall pulled out a small wooden block.

"Turn this to stone," she said.

Confused, but too elated to question her, Harry did so. It was a relatively simple spell to change the substance of an object so long as the size, shape, and level of sentience remained the same.

Picking the stone block up, McGonagall examined it for flaws. Then she transfigured it back to wood, put it down again, and said, "Now make half of it stone and half silver."

Frowning, Harry cast the spell. It was harder than transfiguring it to stone had been; significantly so in fact. Two simultaneous partial transfigurations were something that they had only begun to cover in class but he managed it. It wasn't perfect; the silver and stone were mixed in places but Harry was proud of it. He doubted that anyone in his class, save perhaps Hermione, could have done better.

McGonagall didn't seem as impressed as he was. She was making small, disapproving noises as she turned the piece over in her hands.

"It's all stone through the middle," she said.

"What?"

Rather than replying she cast a spell on the stone that cleaved it in two. The surface layer of one half was indeed silver, but the rest of the piece, the core of it, was entirely stone. Harry hadn't managed the spell well enough for it to be truly partially transfigured. It was just an approximation of what he intended.

But McGonagall didn't stop there. She said, "Now turn it into a cardinal."

Inanimate to animate transfigurations weren't something that they had worked on yet. It was fourth year magic at the very least. Nevertheless, determined to match whatever test that McGonagall was trying to impose on him, Harry cast the spell. While he had never tried such a complex transfiguration before he knew the theory quite well. It had come up a number of times in reading he had done for Cedric. Duelist wouldn't shut up about how useful inanimate to animate transfiguration was.

Fastidiously performing the correct wand movement and making sure to lay stress on the proper syllables in the incantation, Harry cast the spell. It didn't work.

That is not to say it didn't do anything. Indeed, the result was spectacularly dreadful. At first it had looked as if it was going to work, the object beginning to morph into the rough shape of the bird, feathers beginning to bristle along the edges. But about halfway through, the most important stage of every transfiguration, it fell apart. One section of the object continued to transform but the other began to revert, become more brick-lick, feathers receding.

By the end of the process the creature Harry had created was half-bird and half-stone brick, a squawking, dying abomination. It flailed with its upper body, only one, partially stone, wing flapping. The thing was clearly in pain.

Without a word McGonagall undid his transformations. Where there had been an atrocity there was only an innocent wood block.

"I think that will be all," McGonagall said.

Before he left, guessing what point McGonagall had been trying to get across, Harry said, "I know my limits, professor."

McGonagall looked back at him, expression steady but not cold. "Let's hope, for your sake, and the sake of your friends, that you do."

* * *

Lupin and McGonagall were the only professors that were treating Harry any differently. He supposed that the rest hadn't been informed of his exploration of dark magic. It made sense, he supposed, to keep information like that confined to as few people as possible. He was grateful that they hadn't told anyone else. Suffering through another year of people treating him like a pariah because they thought he was evil wasn't something he thought he could bear. Being thought the Heir of Slytherin had been bad enough.

Ron and Hermione seemed to come to terms with Harry's use of dark magic. Ron did so for pragmatic reasons; he felt grateful toward Harry for saving him and reasoned that he was only using spells like that to protect himself, not to hurt others, so that meant it was okay. Even to Harry that seemed like somewhat superficial logic, but he wasn't going to argue if it made Ron feel better.

Hermione was harder for him to understand. She didn't lecture him about the spells, didn't even say anything about them at all. But every now and then Harry caught her looking at him, as if she were studying him. She would look away whenever he caught her. Harry thought that she was watching for any signs that the magic was having an effect on him. He didn't think that the corruption of dark magic, if that was actually a thing, would be so obvious, but if it reassured Hermione to keep an eye on him he wasn't going to argue. The status-quo was fine with him.

There were a few sightings of Black after his infiltration of Hogwarts. He was seen breaking into homes and just generally making a nuisance of himself, taking various supplies, including medical potions. Harry felt a grim satisfaction at that, knowing that his spell had inconvenienced, even hurt, Black. It was just the first payment of a debt he owed Black.

Every time someone announced that there had been a sighting Harry felt a twinge of excitement. Just knowing that Black was still out there, that it was still possible for him to bring him to justice, was enough to keep him practicing, trying to get stronger, faster, and more skilled. Since he no longer had to spend time working with Lupin he was able to dedicate more time to practicing the spells that he and Cedric had found. He even got the Silver Spear to work, though he hadn't mastered it as completely as the Disintegrating Curse. It was a temperamental spell.

With Hermione watching him carefully Harry had to spend more time on his schoolwork than he had been. His grades improved, but his time spent practicing other spells, though augmented by the end of his sessions with Lupin, decreased overall. It took a long time to craft an essay that was up to Hermione's standards. Harry didn't begrudge her that though. He knew it was important, and he was pleased that she cared enough to watch over him like that. He didn't kid himself that the Dursleys would have put half as much effort in, even if they had found out he was being hunted by a killer. They would have been more likely to cut him loose.

Cedric didn't pull away from Harry either, though he had been frustrated when Harry told him about his confrontation, if it could be called that, with Black.

"You chased him? Wow. That's…spectacularly stupid. Even for you," Cedric said.

They were in their usual classroom. Cedric hadn't yet conjured up new furnishings to replace the ones they systematically destroyed in increasingly inventive ways each time.

Harry cringed, knowing Cedric was right. "I wasn't really thinking," he said.

"Oh, so you're not stupid then, just impulsive and irrational."

"Sounds about right."

"I guess I should just be glad you didn't get yourself stabbed. Or disemboweled. Or vaporized. Or blown up. Or—"

"Thanks, Cedric. I'm glad I'm alive too," Harry said.

"He won't be surprised next time," Cedric said. For once he looked serious, his expression somber, his hands nervously teasing the folds of his robes.

"I know. I'll have to think of something else. The important thing is that I survived."

"And you said that you told your friends about this? Our studying together."

"I couldn't keep it from them. They didn't deserve that. You don't have to worry, they won't tell anyone. Ron just puts it out of his mind, he doesn't like thinking about it. Hermione's worried about me, but she knows that this is something I need to do," Harry said.

Before Cedric responded he swished his wand, conjuring a wooden dummy. It was rough, nothing like the sleek models that could be found in muggle department stores, but Harry figured it would do for their purposes. Cedric repeated the spell a few more times, creating a plentiful supply of dummies for them to wreck.

"If you say they won't tell anyone then I trust you," Cedric said.

"Thanks," Harry said.

Cedric looked at Harry, as if assessing him, and then said, "I have something to confess to you. My parents didn't fight in the war. Neither of them. They're both purebloods, so I think they figured that they would end up all right no matter who won. It's not that they're bad people; they just didn't want to risk anything in a war that didn't really matter to them. I didn't understand that for a long time. I still don't, to an extent. It made me ashamed of them, their apathy. It goes against everything I believe, all of the ideas I hold about right and wrong, to sit on the sidelines while people die just because you were lucky enough to be born a pureblood. For a long time I resented them for that, hated them even. I've made my peace with that now and I love my parents, but I could never do what they did."

Surprised, Harry asked, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I thought you should know that if you ever need help, if someone is trying to do something wrong, or evil, you can count on my help. I won't stand idly by while people suffer. These spells that we're learning, they're a means to an end; a greater, nobler, end. We have to master them and not be mastered by them. Actions and intentions are what matter, not our tools. I just thought you should know that," Cedric said.

"Thank you," Harry said. He wasn't sure how to respond in kind, but he was moved by Cedric's offer of assistance. Harry wasn't a Hufflepuff but he still placed a high value on loyalty and friendship.

After a pause, Harry asked, "You think that dark magic can be mastered? Used for good ends?"

"I wouldn't have offered to help you break into the restricted section if I didn't. There are stories about wizards going bad from using dark magic, but the causation isn't established. Maybe dark magic just attracts evil people, so it got a reputation for being evil itself. I don't know. But I'm sure that if we're smart about it, and make sure we only use it for a good cause, for justice, we'll be fine," Cedric said.

"Good. That's good," Harry said. It was nice that someone thought that he wouldn't turn into gibbering, sadistic, savages just because of the spells he was using. Not everyone agreed with Hermione.

"But enough of that. Time to move on to important things," Cedric said, drawing his wand. "Like how much you've improved since our last duel."

With a sense of impending dread, Harry drew his wand. Cedric smiled maliciously. Harry took an involuntary step back, and then they dueled.

* * *

"Harry, can we talk?" Ron asked. They were walking back from dinner. Hermione had left them earlier, saying she needed to go to the library. Harry and Ron had been considering the odds of The Cleansweep Corporation putting out a broom that could match the Firebolt, with Ron vehemently against such an idea but Harry less convinced. The market for deluxe brooms was only growing according to an article he had read in _Quidditch Monthly_.

"Yeah, definitely," Harry said.

"It's about the spells you've been learning," Ron said. "About everything that's happened since this year started, to be completely honest."

They had stopped in the middle of a corridor. Ron's voice was hushed. Harry let his own fall to match his friend's. It was late and there weren't any other students around.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. He had thought that Ron was over his admission of using dark magic. It was established that it was for self-defense, so Harry couldn't help but feel frustrated that Ron was bringing it up again.

"You've been distant this year. And I'm not blaming you for that. I understand why. Hermione does too. But you have been, and I'm worried. My parents told us stories; about the war I mean. The things that people who used dark magic did, on both sides. It's not just the Death Eaters that used dark magic. There were some people in the ministry, aurors, and even people who worked with Dumbledore, who used dark magic. My parents said that it changed them, and it wasn't just the war. My mum said they got 'cruel.' My dad won't even talk about it. He doesn't like to remember the war. I just don't want to see something like that happen to you and I'm afraid it's happening already. You didn't used to keep secrets. The only reason we found out that you were using dark magic was because Hermione followed you."

"But you know why I'm using dark magic. It's only to protect me from Black," Harry said. Ron was trying to frighten him off of using the only spells that could possibly protect him, and Harry wouldn't, or even couldn't, let that happen. You didn't steal a life vest from a drowning man.

"I know. That doesn't change what my parents told me," Ron said.

"They might have just been trying to scare you."

"But why would they do that if there wasn't anything wrong with that kind of magic? There has to be a reason."

"I don't know Ron. I don't have all the answers. But I know this: I know you're alive because of dark magic. Black would've killed you without hesitation. I know that the only thing that could possibly keep me alive if I meet Black again is dark magic. I know that even Lupin and McGonagall haven't done anything to me even though they see that I've using dark magic. If it were so bad don't you think they would have actually done something about it?"

Harry was aware that he was coming off as combative, but he felt he needed to bring Ron around to his point of view. Otherwise it would always be a point of conflict between them.

"Maybe," Ron said, but he sounded doubtful.

"Ron, I swear to you, once Black is captured I will never use dark magic again."

Ron brightened. "Really?"

"I swear," Harry said. He believed himself too. Dark magic was only a means to a particular end. He avoided thinking about Cedric, who was using dark magic as a means to an end too, but a less definitive end than Harry. There was no end in sight for Cedric using dark magic. But that didn't mean he needed to be like that, Harry thought. Cedric would understand that he wasn't going to study dark magic with him once Black was gone. Despite his attempt at reassuring himself, Harry couldn't help but feel as if he were being torn between two friends going in different directions, even though they had the same goal, and neither would be willing to let him follow the other. Torn loyalties never ended well.

He banished such thoughts from his mind. Ron started walking back to Gryffindor tower and Harry followed, trying to think of some lighter conversation that he could turn to.

"We don't really do anything anymore," Ron said.

"We do stuff all the time," Harry protested.

"Not like we used to. Smuggling a dragon, sneaking around the castle under the invisibility cloak, visiting Hagrid, going into the Forbidden Forest, breaking into the Slytherin Common Room…we used to have adventures is all I'm saying. It feels like we haven't done anything like that this year. I know Black is still on the loose but that doesn't mean we have to suck all the fun out of Hogwarts. It isn't the same when it's just Hermione and me in the common room. She'll work or nag me to do work and I'll just play with exploding cards or try to talk to the twins."

Ron had never opened up to Harry about his feelings so much before. It was like a cloud had been concealing the sky from Harry, and he saw how lonely Ron had been, how isolated and neglected he had been feeling. The three of them had always been a team and Harry had just left that behind, without explanation, without even realizing it. Harry felt guilty with the knowledge that, for once, it was entirely his fault. Ron wasn't even blaming him; that was how far apart they had become. He was just sad and opening up to Harry because he couldn't help but hope for a return to normalcy.

"You're right, Ron. How about tonight the three of us going looking for something? We'll explore Hogwarts. We haven't done that in forever, and it's not like we've found even a fraction of what there is. I bet there's stuff in this castle that even Dumbledore doesn't know anything about," Harry said.

"You make it sound like we're arranging a date," Ron said.

"No, I'm serious. I've spent this entire year frightened of Black and the things he might do. It's time to stop letting that control me. You, Hermione, and I are going to have an adventure, like we used to. I can't promise dragons, giant spiders, or basilisks, but I think it'll still be fun.

Nodding, Ron seemed to be getting into the spirit of it. "Yeah, we should. Fred and George told me that there's loads of stuff on the seventh floor that even the professors don't know about. There's a rumor that the seventh floor is the one Rowena Ravenclaw experimented with the most. Something about it being a magically significant number, I really don't know."

"This means, of course, that we have to rescue Hermione from the library," Harry said.

"Just like old times," Ron said, smiling.

"Exactly."

* * *

To Harry's surprise the three of them still fit under the invisibility cloak. Not as easily as they used to but their feet weren't showing and that was what mattered, he thought.

"Ron, you're stepping on my feet," Hermione said.

"That was Harry."

"Was not."

"I can't believe I let the two of you drag me away from Sprout's assignment. It's due two days from now," Hermione said.

"Oh let it go, Hermione. We all know you'll get perfect marks anyway," Ron said.

He had been in an inextinguishable good mood since Harry had suggested they explore Hogwarts. They had gone to Gryffindor Tower to get Harry's cloak, then to the library to get Hermione. She hadn't wanted to come with them at first, citing work, but Ron wasn't going to be overruled in the kind of mood he was in.

So they were wandering the seventh floor, poking their head into rooms they had never known existed before. Harry could swear that Hogwarts was being even more mystical than usual, as if it knew that they were poking around. The portraits had left their frames and gathered together. They were having drunken revelries, intellectual discourses, and even flashy duels. Hermione had begged them to stop at two older wizards who were arguing over Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration. Harry had been able to drag her past them though, promising that they would find something even more interesting if they kept looking.

At one point they came to a door that Hermione claimed was just a fake door, of the sort that first years learned to avoid, but when Ron tried the handle it opened to reveal an incredible vista.

Stars were burning brighter than Harry had ever seen before overhead. The door led to a wide and open platform, with no railing, that was clearly one of Hogwarts' highest points. The wood of the platform was aged, but not splintery or weak. The sky itself didn't seem to be its usual nighttime inky black, but instead was streak with half a dozen different colors, as if each subtle variation was being magnified for their benefit. Harry and Ron wandered on to the platform, Hermione following more cautiously.

"It's incredible," Ron said.

"Yeah. I had no idea this was here," Harry said.

From behind them, Hermione said, "I don't think it really is. Look down. We're above even the astronomy tower. If this tower were really here we would all know it because it would the highest point of Hogwarts."

"It's an illusion?" Ron asked.

"Maybe. I don't really know," Hermione said. She came to stand beside Ron. Harry was stalking the edges of the platform, looking down at the school below that was illuminated by torchlight. Hogwarts was even more majestic at night than it was during the day. All the signs of age and weariness that were there if one looked closely enough during the day were obscured by the dark, leaving only the beautiful and enchanting behind.

"Whatever this is it's incredible," Harry said.

Ron came to stand next to him. "Look at that; Hagrid's hut is tiny from up here."

"Hagrid's hut is actually tiny, Ron," Harry said.

"True."

"The magic that must have gone into this is incredible," Hermione said.

"I think the view is better than thinking about the magic," Ron said.

"Look at the lake," Harry said. There was water shifting about its surface, though nothing was visible. It was like waves on an ocean, but on a smaller scale. "What do you reckon is doing that?"

"Might be the giant squid. He's supposed to be more active at night," Hermione said.

They were silent for some time, each lost in their own thoughts. Harry swore to himself that he would never stop appreciating Hogwarts, never come to just accept it as so many other students did. The castle was a marvel and he thought he could spend his whole life there, just plumbing it for its secrets. But not to share. Each secret was a moment, a memory, which could only be shared between the castle and whoever found it. Like the tower they were on. Harry knew that none of them would ever forget it. Beauty on such a scale was rare and burned itself indelibly into all but the most insensate minds.

Harry turned his eyes to the sky. There were streaks of black, the deepest blues, light greens and oranges; Harry wondered what they all meant, if the different colors had some meaning or they were just beautiful. He wouldn't be disappointed if they were just beautiful. Beautiful things didn't need a reason to exist. Harry felt that Hermione and Ron were thinking along the same lines as him. He had never felt closer to them than in that moment, as if whatever had been separating them during the year were just transitory troubles that burned away in the presence of such splendor.

"I wonder how many people have been able to see this before us," Ron said, seeming thoughtful and at peace.

"Only the ones who have gone looking for it I imagine," Hermione said.

"But we weren't really looking for it," Ron said.

"Sometimes I think that we find the things that are most meaningful to us when we aren't looking for them. You have to stumble on them. It's why we should always be curious," Harry said.

Hermione paused, then said, "That's very thoughtful, Harry," without any mockery or cynicism.

"I wonder if we'll ever be able to come back here. It would be a shame if this was the only time," Ron said.

"I don't know. It would be nice, in a way, if this place only existed as a memory, something the three of us shared. Something that nobody else could take away from us," Hermione said. Her voice was thick with overwhelming emotion, and Harry suspected she was feeling something rather like the closeness he was feeling.

They stayed on that tower for hours until the morning began to break up the darkness and blow away the shadows. Few words were exchanged because it wasn't a moment that called for them. They could only diminish what the three of them were feeling, Harry thought. The colors turned in the sky, becoming brighter, more vivid, but losing something of the gravitas they had had at night. Their work, troubles, and cares, were forgotten. For a few hours, watching the movement of the heavens, they were free from mundane concerns. It was, Harry reflected, moments like that which made him happy to be a wizard. With all of the bad in his life, everything he had been forced to endure, there were spots so bright that they couldn't help but make up for the rest.

"I suppose we should head back to the tower to try and get some sleep," Hermione said regretfully, pushing herself to her feet and tearing her eyes away from the whirling patterns in the sky.

Harry and Ron followed her lead. With slow, unhappy steps, the three of them left the platform. Harry was the last one out, and stole a final glance before pulling the door shut behind him, all hints of the magic they had just seen disappearing. He had a hunch that if he tried the door again it would have reverted to its normal state, a locked door leading nowhere, but he was too afraid to try and be proven right. So he left with Ron and Hermione, back under the invisibility cloak, returning to Gryffindor Tower.

"I think that out of all the adventures we've had, the things we've seen, that was my favorite," Ron said.

"No giant spiders this time," Harry said.

"No basilisk," Hermione said.

"Sometimes it's better like that. Who says you need to have danger to have an adventure?" Ron asked.

"Nobody. But sometimes it seems you can't have one without the other," Harry said.

Ron was the first one up the stairs when they got back to Gryffindor Tower. He was yawning widely and wished them both a good night. Harry was about to follow when Hermione grabbed his arm.

"I have something I need to tell you," she said.

Harry waited for her to continue. He was tired, but she seemed to think it was important. Her face scrunched up, like it always did when she was thinking deeply.

"You told me your secret so it's only fair that I tell you mine. You know how I've been taking all of the electives? Well, the only way I've been able to do that is by using a Time Turner that the ministry gave me because of Professor McGonagall's recommendation. It allows me to rewind time up to twenty-four hours."

"You've been time travelling so that you could take extra classes?"

Hermione blushed. "I thought it was important to learn as much as I could. Divination and Muggle Studies are a bit disappointing though, so I'm thinking of dropping the time turner anyway."

"I can't believe McGonagall gave you something that could allow you to time travel. For class. That's insane. Absolutely mad."

"She trusts me," Hermione said, a tad defensive.

"I trust you too, Hermione. Just not enough to give you something that could alter the fabric of time itself. Seems a bit irresponsible to me."

"It doesn't matter anyway. I'm giving up at the end of the year. I just thought that I should tell you, so that we weren't keeping any secrets from each other."

"Why didn't you ask Ron to stay too then?" Harry asked. Hermione was never able to hide her emotions and Harry could read the guilt on her face clearly.

"You already told him," Harry said.

"A month ago. I just needed someone to talk to about it and you weren't around at all. Ron and I were spending so much time together and he kept asking about how I was getting to my classes and I hate lying and so I just told him. I've been meaning to tell you for the longest time. I just wasn't sure how."

Harry couldn't deny that he was hurt. It had never crossed his mind that while he had been hiding things from his friends they had been concealing secrets from him as well. In retrospect that made him feel foolish. He had become so absorbed in his own problems that he ignored the problems of others. Hagrid had needed help with Buckbeak and Harry hadn't done anything for him. Ron was lonely and Harry had given him the scraps of his attention. Hermione was cracking under the stress of time traveling and taking enough classes for two students and Harry hadn't even noticed. It took her frank admission to make him see how self-importantly he had been acting.

"It's okay, Hermione. I understand. I'm sure McGonagall made you promise not to tell."

Hermione nodded and said, "I'm glad you aren't mad. I'd been thinking about how to tell you for the longest time. Tonight just seemed like the best moment."

"It probably was. That tower was special. I don't know that we'll see its likes again," Harry said.

"I know what you mean. I haven't felt this…refreshed, I suppose, in a long time. Since before I started using the time turner."

"We should probably get some sleep though. Double Potions with Snape tomorrow," Harry said, making a face. Hermione laughed.

"Goodnight, Harry," she said.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

* * *

Five minutes after curfew started Harry was in the restricted section. He didn't bother to wait for Pince to leave. He needed all the time he could get. With Pince there he couldn't risk using a light, but he had anticipated that and snagged a Low-Light Potion from Snape's stores. The library was murky while he was under the effects of the potion, appearing as much a dream as reality, but he could make out the titles of the books and that sufficed for his purposes.

Without a clear idea about where the book he was looking for would be located, Harry started going down the aisle methodically, hoping he would find it sooner rather than later. At some point during his search Pince left. She didn't notice anything strange. Harry was alone in the Hogwarts Library.

Black knew of Harry's capabilities. Surprise was not an achievable goal anymore. Harry had decided that he needed something else to ensure his survival. A spell that even Black wouldn't be able to defend himself from. There weren't many spells that fit that requirement but Harry remembered something that Cedric had been telling him. Something that could work.

It would only be in the restricted section, Harry knew. Spells of the sort he was looking for weren't taught in the open. He wasn't even sure that the restricted section would have what he was looking for. Harry knew that he would be crossing a sort of line with what he was searching for. There were gradations of dark magic, and what he wanted was about the blackest and vilest. That was why he needed it. Nothing less would suffice.

In a stroke of luck no patrols came while Harry was searching; no nosy teachers or gossiping prefects. He was alone in the dark library, surrounded by forbidden knowledge, and Harry felt a thrill running through him. He didn't love books to the same extent that Hermione did but even he couldn't deny the pleasure of a whole world of knowledge, powerful knowledge, which he could take if he would only reach out his hand.

He had told Ron and Hermione that he was meeting with Cedric, to clarify a few things. They never spoke to him so it wasn't likely that his secret would be found out. He disliked compounding the lies he had been telling them, and after they had done so much to become close again, but this was something he knew they wouldn't tolerate. But, he reminded himself, it wasn't their lives in the balance. They cared about him, that he didn't doubt, but it was a caring with limits, moral limits, that Harry didn't impose upon himself for his own survival.

Cedric might understand but Harry resolved to keep him in the dark as well. There were some roads on which you could only take another person so far. He had the feeling that his was one of them; a road of personal sacrifice in the name of survival.

Sometimes Harry wondered if it were really survival he was after, and not some revenge that he thought would bring him peace. His mind oscillated between the two; rationally he knew he was after survival, but there was something in him that cried for justice, which, in this case, would be nothing other than revenge. They were one and the same. He was self-aware enough to know that he was trending toward revenge, but the tools he needed for survival were the same ones he would need for revenge. It was only in the moment, he knew, that he would make the choice between the two, and even Harry wasn't sure which he would pick.

It took hours of mindless searching to find what he was looking for, tucked among the shelves. Harry had convinced Cedric to teach him the copying spell he had used on the books in the restricted section, arguing that it was a useful spell and you never knew when it would come in handy. Cedric, always trusting, had agreed, seemingly without hesitation.

Harry flipped through the book. It only dealt with a few spells, and there was only one that Harry was interested in. He ignored the discussions of the other spells in favor of copying everything there was about the one. It wasn't laborious, the copying spell being relatively simple, but it was time consuming. The spell copied at a few times the speed of a quick writer but for the forty pages that Harry needed it took some time.

He kept watch for any signs of approaching prefects or teachers. Or Filch. Getting caught with what he had would be bad. He wasn't sure whether you could be punished depending on what you were looking at in the restricted section but Harry knew that regardless of what the official punishment was he would be under a great deal of scrutiny if he was caught with that particular spell.

When the spell finished Harry stuffed the new sheets of paper into his bag and slid the book back into its proper spot.

Getting out of the library was easy enough. Harry didn't return to Gryffindor Tower. He didn't think that he would be able to sleep without trying to perform the spell that was in his bag. It would gnaw at his thoughts until he gave in, and tried it, like a worm burrowing into his head. He knew that would happen, the crawling impatience, though he wasn't sure how he knew.

With the invisibility cloak securely in place Harry ghosted through Hogwarts' corridors. The castle late at night was almost like an old friend to him; it was comforting in ways he couldn't explain.

Then Harry was out on the school grounds, making his way for the Forbidden Forest. He wouldn't go too far in but it would be a mistake to practice the spell on school grounds. Caution would rule the day. It wasn't far past Hagrid's hut that Harry decided to practice. He didn't think Hagrid would see or hear him but he liked knowing the man was close. Hagrid had always been a comforting figure, kind and open-hearted. It was, Harry thought, something to aspire toward. It was also something Harry had been moving farther away from.

He wasn't ignorant of the danger that Black posed. Hermione would say that it was reckless to leave the confines of the school at night, when dementors and Black were prowling the perimeter. Harry knew that he had to try the spell though, his eagerness making him throw caution aside and crown boldness in its place.

There was a secluded grove with an enormous boulder, surrounded by tall trees, not far from Hagrid's hut. It was there that Harry went. Using his wand as a light he read through the pages he had gotten from the restricted section.

Despite the late hour he felt no tiredness. All of his senses were alert, seeming to work beyond even their usual capacity. When he finished reading the pages a first time he read them again. He suspected there wouldn't be much of a margin of error with what he was dealing with. Mistakes could be fatal with the most powerful magic, Cedric had warned him. What he was trying to cast certainly qualified as powerful magic.

The night was waning by the time Harry was confident enough to perform the spell. He didn't think he was going to get any sleep but that was nothing in the face of what he hoped to accomplish.

His first attempt at casting the spell was an abject failure. He felt nothing. Not even the slightest tingle of magic.

The second attempt was better. There was a peculiar, almost rapturous, rushing sensation that went through him when he said the incantation. He was focusing on the instructions of the spell harder than he had with any spell before; even the Patronus Charm. Despite his best effort he was rewarded only with the feeling, no outward sign that the spell was working on the micro level, if not the macro.

That was the theme that continued through the night and into the early morning. Each attempt would bring with it the same euphoria but without anything in the way of results. The pages warned him that the spell was difficult, took great skill and practice to wield effectively, but Harry hadn't understood how hard it would actually be.

It was the last attempt that brought forth the breakthrough he had been searching for. The sun was starting to rise in the sky and even the euphoria the spell brought could hold his exhaustion at bay much longer. Harry told himself that he would try only one more time, and then come to practice again another night.

The moment he cast the spell he knew it would work; the incantation dripped from his lips and the rush was heavenly, stronger than it had even been before. Harry was aiming at the boulder and from his wand rushed a bolt of blinding green light, the sort that Harry had seen in his nightmares. It splashed on the rock and fractured the area where it impacted, leaving behind a stain of blackness that Harry could see even in the low light of the morning. He knew that that stain would never leave; it was a part of the boulder forever, tainting it until it crumbled to dust.

The Killing Curse was nothing if not permanent.

Trudging back to the castle Harry felt a great sense of accomplishment. He thought of Black, and in the place of the fear and loathing he associated with the man there was only a devilish eagerness. I'm ready for you now, Harry thought.

* * *

"So he apologized to you," Cedric said, twirling his wind in between his fingers. At the other end of the room there was a charred husk where one of the wooden dummies had been.

"He held me back after class and told me that he was sorry for reacting the way he did and that it was inappropriate for a teacher to resort to physical violence in order to get a lesson across. He hopes that I can forgive him."

"Lupin's a good guy."

"He is. But he crossed the line, Cedric. I have to be able to trust people. I trust you, I trust Ron and Hermione; I can't trust Lupin anymore."

"You still haven't learned the Patronus Charm, have you?" Cedric asked.

"No, and it's driving me mad. I've learned dozens of spells this year, difficult spells, but I can't seem to get that one down. I have no idea what's holding me back and neither did Lupin."

"So you can't defend yourself against dementors. Huh. If I come across your soulless body one day when I'm strolling across the grounds would you like to be taken to Pomfrey or should I just put a pillow over your head?"

"You can't cast the patronus either," Harry said.

"True, but unlike you I don't pass out when dementors get too close. That means I can run away."

"How brave of you."

"Harry, if I haven't shown you the difference between bravery and stupidity in all the time we've been practicing together than I really have failed you."

"It's okay, Cedric. I figured you were going to be a failure from the beginning. I just took pity on you and decided to go with it."

"How noble of you."

"I thought so too."

The school year was nearing its end, finals approaching, and the time Harry and Cedric had to get together was dwindling, though that was more because of Harry than Cedric. Hermione was making Harry spend an inordinate amount of time studying for finals with her. Ron was ready to mutiny but Harry was managing to keep him in check; though for how much longer he wasn't sure.

In the gap year between his O.W.L. year and N.E.W.T. year Cedric was taking a more relaxed approach to his exams. It was important for him to know the material but he claimed nobody would be looking at his sixth year grades. All people cared about were the standardized wizarding exams. He had spent most of his free time out on the quidditch pitch, trying out new moves he had seen some hotshot seeker, name of Krim or something, perform. Cedric waxed poetic about the up-and-comer, who played for Bulgaria, claiming that he was the best seeker in a generation.

Harry would never have guessed prior to getting to know Cedric how prone he was to fan worship. Duelists, quidditch players, even magical theorists; Cedric had a spot in his heart for them all.

On his end, Harry wasn't concerned with his performance on finals. With the amount of extra studying he had done on both the practical and theoretical end since Christmas he thought it would likely be his best finals performance since he came to Hogwarts. Hermione was starting to get some inkling of that. Every question she posed to Harry was answered without difficulty, every spell pulled off flawlessly.

To her credit she was only minimally jealous. Rather, it seemed to make her redouble her efforts in order to be able to match Harry. That meant he and Ron spent a lot of time playing chess or exploding snap while Hermione was in the library, trying to brush up on the book end of things. Harry wasn't upset by that. Hermione became increasingly panicky the closer they drew to the start of finals. She would do spectacularly (she always did), but that didn't stop her from panicking.

"Cedric, remember you told me about those three spells. The Unforgivables," Harry said.

"Why?" Cedric asked. Harry noticed that whenever those particular spells were brought up Cedric became uncomfortable, as if they were a taboo subject. Maybe they were, Harry thought. They were certainly dangerous enough.

"Well, I thought that Black might try to use them against me. If he's as dangerous as people say then he definitely knows them. That means I need to learn how to protect myself against them."

Cedric went into his lecturing mode. Not for the first time Harry thought that Cedric would be an excellent teacher if he didn't make it on the dueling circuit. "The Imperius Curse can be blocked, but usually it's cast on an unsuspecting victim. The only way to defend yourself against it is to practice throwing off the spell. However, that's a technique that only a few can master and it requires someone casting the Imperius on you."

"Something you're not willing to do," Harry said.

"Right. The Cruciatus Curse can be blocked or avoided. Basically, don't get hit. It's like any other spell, just incredibly painful. The most painful thing in existence, people say."

"Sounds like the least dangerous of the three."

"It is, but the least dangerous spell of the three most dangerous in the world should still make you want to run away screaming. It's the Killing Curse that's the worst to deal with. No shield can stop it. You've either got to get something strong, like a hunk of stone, in between you and the spell, or dodge it. It goes through any magical shield and kills instantly, without leaving a mark on flesh."

Harry already knew all of that from the pages he had stolen from the book in the restricted section.

"Wouldn't it make sense for us to learn them if they're so dangerous? You can only fight someone if you understand them. Learning those spells could make us safer."

Cedric was looking at Harry like he would a small, uncomprehending, child. "They're called Unforgivables for a reason, Harry. Magic like that rots you. A few aurors used them during the war, trying to fight back against You-Know-Who, and the ones that survived the war were changed. You can't touch darkness that absolute without losing something of yourself."

"That's just conjecture, though, right? I mean, we don't actually know what those spells do to you. Nobody's studied it."

"Nobody's studied it, but that's because they're so dangerous that no sane researcher would ever study them. Only dark wizards study them and they don't seem inclined to share their findings."

What Cedric was saying was similar to what Ron had told him. Dark magic corrupts and he should stay away. The only thing that was different was where they drew the line. Cedric was okay with the more mild forms of dark magic, the destructive spells that could give an edge in combat. Ron would never even consider learning dark magic, Harry knew. Pragmatism and fear could only take you so far against prejudices you had held since you were a child.

"The best thing for us to do would be to practice using your environment to your advantage. Making shields and distractions out of the rubble around you. A lot of the best duelists say that's one of the most effective, and difficult to learn, techniques there is. Best defense against Unforgivables for sure," Cedric said.

"Then let's do that," Harry said.

"Right. You stand over there and I'll try to hex you. You can't use any shields or move. You have to use objects around you to block the spells."

"Cedric, we're in an abandoned classroom. The only objects around us are the things we've wrecked."

"You had better get creative then," he said, grinning his got-you-now grin.

Harry had the feeling he had just agreed to practice something unpleasant and tedious.

Cedric made him practice for hours. Every time the accumulation of hexes became too much Cedric would dispel them, but not until it truly was too much to bear. He kept yelling that Harry needed to learn to think even when he was uncomfortable or in pain. How else would he be able to keep his head in a real duel?

Since he couldn't conjure yet Harry was forced to use the remains of the dummies and furniture that he and Cedric had destroyed to protect himself. They weren't ideal, being rather oddly shaped (catching a spell with the splintered wooden peg of a ruined chair was more difficult than it sounded) but by the end Harry was blocking as many spells as Cedric got through. That was, of course, when Cedric decided to double the rate at which he was casting the hexes.

Harry decided to call it quits when his leg swelled up to absurd proportions, his eyes closed up with goop, and his skin started flaking off like snowflakes. Cedric sounded disappointed but he also praised Harry for his improvement.

"Now it'll probably take two or three spells for Black to kill you instead of just one," he said.

"I'm practically a dueling master," Harry said.

"That's the spirit. False bravado in the face of unconquerable danger!"

"I'm leaving now, Cedric. Goodnight."

Sarcasm and teasing were easier to deal with than pity, Harry thought. That was why Cedric was a nice break from Hermione, who, at times, looked at Harry as if she thought he were going to spontaneously combust. Having one of your best friends think your life was about to be snuffed out at all times was not, Harry reflected, a good feeling. Cedric's permanent cheer, even if it was at his expense, was a nice alternative to that.

It was after dinner but Harry didn't feel like returning to Gryffindor Tower. Curfew was still a few hours away. He couldn't get thoughts about the tower that he had found with Ron and Hermione out of his head. The feeling of peace that it had engendered in him was something he had been hoping to replicate ever since.

Harry decided to go to the Astronomy Tower. It was too early for couples to be there or for budding astronomers to be gazing at the sky. He would likely have it to himself.

While he walked up to the tower Harry considered what Cedric had told him. Unforgivables certainly sounded threatening enough, but the problem was that none of them could give him any solid information on them. It was entirely what they had been told by their parents or society, never great sources of information. Harry would trust a reasoned explanation for why using dark magic was bad, but in the absence of that he would continue on with what he was doing.

He wasn't even sure that if it was confirmed that dark magic had a corrupting influence that he would stop using it. The cost of stopping could be his life. Losing that would make any other cost, even corruption, seem slight in comparison. Pragmatism was what decided his course of action, not dogma or fear. Succumbing to either of those would likely mean death.

The temperature had warmed but Harry cast a Heating Charm on himself when he got to the top of the Astronomy Tower anyway. The last vestiges of dampness and chill were chased away by the charm. There was a fair wind blowing. It ruffled Harry's hair.

At the top of the Astronomy Tower the entirety of the Forbidden Forest was visible. It extended past the eye's line of sight, stretching into darkness. Harry wondered if anyone had ever explored the entirety of the forest, and, if so, what they had found in there. Hogwarts had its secrets; no doubt the forest had some of its own.

Perhaps there were creatures in the Forbidden Forest that nobody had ever seen before, deep in its recesses. Or there were magical plants or forgotten ruins. Hogwarts had been around for a long time and had been home to many intrepid students and professors. Who could say what they did and didn't find in there?

Being at the top of the tower was a bit like flying. Harry had been forced to give up flying in his spare time, unless it was practice with the Gryffindor team, for fear of Black. He was at his most vulnerable when flying. High in the sky, even if he wasn't on his broom, with the wind in his hair, was a close second to flying. It was even more peaceful in some ways. Restive for the mind and the body.

"I have often said that there is nothing so inspiring as gazing upon nature's first green," Dumbledore said.

Harry hadn't noticed his arrival and started; his line of thought was broken and he felt some frustration at that. Peace and quiet were hard to find in a place as alive as Hogwarts.

"My apologies if I am disturbing you, Harry, but I have something of yours that I feel obligated to return." Dumbledore held out the Marauder's Map to Harry.

"I thought that you were using this to make sure Black was staying away from Hogwarts," Harry said. He didn't reach out and take it.

"I dare say it will do you more good than it does me. Professor Lupin and I are unable to keep an eye on it all the time. If you have it then my mind would be somewhat more at ease. Awareness, after all, is often one's best defense."

Harry took the map. It was warm to the touch, humming with magic. Harry had never felt that before. He wondered if it was because of Dumbledore, or he was becoming more sensitive to things like that.

If Dumbledore noticed his reaction he didn't comment on it. He said, "I often came here when I was a student. At this very time, coincidentally enough. Before the astronomers and lovers are out, but early enough to watch the sun set. A slice of peace in an otherwise busy life. Alas, with my commitments as headmaster I find I rarely have the time anymore."

Harry doubted that Dumbledore had come to tell him stories of his earlier years and Lupin could have easily returned the map. There was something else Dumbledore wanted. Harry decided not to press him on it. The point would reveal itself eventually. Impatience would do nothing to help him.

The thought crossed his mind that Dumbledore might know about his foray into the darker side of magic. Strangely, the thought didn't bother him. Dumbledore had such a presence of calm and control that Harry felt that there wasn't anything Dumbledore wouldn't have the solution to. He certainly wouldn't judge; Dumbledore was too understanding for that. A great man, as Hagrid called him.

"Hermione, Ron, and I found another tower the other night on the seventh floor. It warped colors, magnified them, and was taller than any other tower in Hogwarts. Have you ever seen it, professor?"

Dumbledore stroked his beard. "No, I don't think I have. That's part of the charm of this old castle, I think. In a month you can know every nook and cranny and yet even after one hundred years she can still surprise you."

"I'm very fond of Hogwarts," Harry said.

"As am I. In fact, I was speaking to Professor Lupin the other day about much the same thing. He was reminiscing about his own time as a student here. He was a talented student, Professor Lupin. Much like yourself. I've heard glowing reports from all of your teachers."

Harry couldn't help himself. "Even Professor Snape?"

Dumbledore laughed. "In his own way, yes. They say your grasp of both the theoretical and practical sides of magic have improved by leaps and bounds. Professor Lupin mentioned that it only took three lessons before you could produce a patronus shield. Between you and me, Harry, it took me nearly half a year to get to that stage. I struggled with that spell like none before it, and none since."

"Really?" Harry asked, his curiosity peaked. "What was holding you back, professor?"

"The Patronus Charm is, to put it simply, a positive memory given form and power. It requires the utmost concentration and clarity of mind to cast a corporeal patronus for the first time. I was attempting to learn the spell during a rather, shall we say, dark, period of my life. There were problems I was facing that consumed me. Frustration and guilt predominant among them. Such powerful emotions often prevent the casting of a corporeal patronus."

"I never read anything about that. Professor Lupin didn't say anything either."

"It's likely he didn't know. It's not common knowledge. Few attempt to learn the charm and even fewer experience such upheaval in their lives that they are unable to cast it. A transitory problem or loss would do nothing to inhibit the spell. Only something stronger and more lasting, an obsession, if you'll allow me to use the word, could hold someone back for so long."

"And how did you finally cast the spell, professor?"

A faraway look washed over Dumbledore. "I confronted the problem; something which, I must admit, does not come naturally to me. It was only after I came to grips with my own worst fear that I was able to cast the spell."

"I think I understand," Harry said. He didn't ask Dumbledore what specifically had held him back, it seemed too personal, but he could apply what Dumbledore was saying to his own situation. It made sense. Black. He was too much on Harry's mind, always beneath the surface, waiting. All of his impotent rage and grief were strangling his ability to cast a corporeal patronus.

Not for the first time Harry wondered exactly how much Dumbledore knew. He was too enigmatic for Harry to ever hope to understand him. Taking his offered help and advice was the best that Harry could do.

"That is, however, not what I came to speak with you about," Dumbledore said.

He paused, staring out at the vast forest below them. "Let me tell you a story. There was once a boy, powerful and talented, who, for reasons that don't warrant explanation now, began to delve into forbidden magics. He was not isolated or bitter. He had many friends and confidants. You might even say that he was well-liked. Over time, however, the boy began to change. Few noticed, at first. It was a slow thing, his fall. Gradual. The most tragic fates are the ones that seem most avoidable. His future could have been brighter than that of any. Eventually his attraction to the darker magics could be ignored no longer. He was expelled from his school and sent to live with a relative in a foreign country."

Dumbledore seemed to be gathering his thoughts, as if unsure of how to proceed. Harry didn't dare to interrupt, a dread filling him, of the sort that one gets when they witness an inexpressible sorrow.

"I met him once, and he said something to me that I have always thought very profound. He told me, 'Power without wisdom is blind, wisdom without power is empty.' I've thought for many years on that, and even though our definitions of wisdom differed, I've come to believe that what he said was the truth. With that in mind, I will tell you this, Harry. Power gained quickly is invariably gained unwisely; it can never lead to a happy ending."

"But what if someone doesn't see any other way to survive but by becoming unwisely powerful?"

Dumbledore turned and looked at him, his eyes sad and kind. "Then that person might indeed prevent a great evil or their own destruction, only to cause another, even greater, evil themselves."

"You can't know that," Harry said quietly.

"No, I can't," Dumbledore admitted. "There is little I know with certainty. All I can tell you is what I believe. I've seen good people do terrible things far too often and inevitably with unhappy results."

"People told me that dark magic corrupts, that it changes you. That's true then? It's why people go bad?"

"I don't know that it's quite so simple as that," Dumbledore said. "But you must remember that those with power find it all too tempting to use their power. The point of dark magic is to consume and destroy. Its practitioners are inclined to that sort of destruction. It is best to stay away from that temptation altogether. Almost none can straddle that line."

"I see," Harry said.

"In the end no one else can tell you what to do or who to be, Harry. You must know yourself, a more difficult prospect than most think it to be."

"Thank you, professor. You've given me a lot to think about."

"The prerogative of every teacher," Dumbledore said, chuckling. "Hold to your friends, Harry. Friendship and love are the most powerful magic of all."

Dumbledore left Harry alone with his thoughts. He didn't leave the Astronomy Tower for a long time, thinking on what Dumbledore had told him, more conflicted and confused and afraid than he had ever been before.


	5. Chapter 5

With June came finals. Hermione was frantic, Ron was depressed, and Harry was apathetic to it all. He didn't find any of his exams particularly challenging. Lupin had even let him demonstrate his Patronus Charm for extra credit (though Harry wasn't convinced he had gotten anything wrong on either the practical or theoretical side of things to need extra credit).

Hermione was frustrated with how easy it was for him. "Since when have you been the next Albus Dumbledore," she groused.

"I think it was last week, in Trelawney's class, isn't that right, Ron?"

"Yes. Trelawney's final prediction," Ron said solemnly.

Flitwick's finals were never difficult. He seemed to believe that the more people that did well in Charms the better. Harry had to admit that out of all the branches of magic, charms seemed the most indispensable for average wizarding life. It came as no surprise when Cedric told him that Flitwick's O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. classes were by far the largest at Hogwarts.

The hardest exams for him were, amusingly enough, Herbology and History of Magic. They were the two subjects that Harry had done no extra studying for during the course of the school year. He had also avoided doing much studying for his finals in general. He thought that he would be lucky to scrape Acceptables on both but that didn't bother him much. His other grades would more than make up for it.

Harry even thought that he would do well in Divination, his final exam. He had been relaxed during the final and spouted off as much mystical nonsense as he could, being very earnest all the while, and Trelawney had eaten it up. She had even wished him a happy summer on the way out. Harry had never seen her look that pleased before and wondered if she had been hitting the sherry a little early.

An hour after their last exam Ron, Hermione, and Harry were sitting under an old oak overlooking the lake.

"Looks like you survived another year, mate," Ron said.

"Nobody even tried to kill me. Black was so busy with you that he ignored me," Harry said. He was feeling cheery and enjoying the nice breeze on his face. His last days at Hogwarts every year were bittersweet, but he had a feeling he wouldn't mind going back to the Dursley's as much this year. The whole Sirius Black business had cast a shadow over the year. With any luck, he thought, the man would be captured before he returned to Hogwarts the next year.

"How can you two even joke about that? It's horrible," Hermione said.

"Worse than being attacked by your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Harry asked.

"Or a basilisk?" Ron added.

"Or giant spiders."

"Or flying a car into the Whomping Willow."

"Yes. Worse than all that," Hermione said. She couldn't keep a small smile off her face though.

"Good to know. We'll confine our conversation to monsters and malevolent trees from now on."

"Speaking of monsters, when are you ditching the Dursley's to come to the Burrow this summer. Mum's mentioned it in her last three letters. She spends almost as much time talking about you as she does me," Ron said.

"No idea but it shouldn't be too long. I don't think the Dursleys mind seeing me leave and I definitely prefer the Burrow."

"You're invited too, of course," Ron said to Hermione.

"How generous," she responded dryly.

The two started arguing and Harry leaned his head back against the tree. His thoughts turned the Killing Curse, almost involuntarily. He hadn't practiced the spell since his conversation with Dumbledore. It had seemed wrong. There was, however, a part of him that was glad that he knew the spell. He didn't have it mastered and he wasn't sure how useful it would be but the fact that he knew it made him at least _feel_ safer.

Cedric had seemed less preoccupied with practicing spells with Harry as the year neared its end as well. As often as not they got together to discuss the latest quidditch matches. Cedric had given Harry a portable radio with which he could listen to England, Puddlemore United, and all of the other teams that Cedric raved about. It was a nice gesture and it gave him and Ron something to do other than play chess or exploding snap. Listening to quidditch had become an almost ritual pastime for the third year boys since Harry had set up the radio. Even Neville would listen with them on occasion.

Sometimes he and Cedric would listen to a game and Cedric would give Harry a rundown on the particular tactic that the team was trying out. Harry had never realized just how superficial the tactics of Hogwarts' quidditch teams were. Pro teams had a seemingly endless number of approaches for winning any given match; certain managers from around the world were renowned for their tactical acumen.

In a bid to keep up their sharpness over the summer, Cedric had promised to bring Harry to a couple of dueling and quidditch matches. Cedric would be learning to apparate over the summer so he claimed it wouldn't be any trouble to pick Harry up. Harry thought that the Dursley's would react better to Cedric picking Harry up than they had the Weasley's. He was a more normal person, and Harry figured that he would have an easier time blending in with muggles.

Overall, Harry was looking forward to a much more enjoyable summer than usual. Hermione had promised to stop by as well, though Harry suspected that meant driving down with her parents. He wasn't sure that was the best idea but she seemed set on it for some reason and he didn't want to argue with her about it.

"Today's the day that Buckbeak is supposed to be executed," Hermione said.

Ron stopped whatever he was about to say. Harry said, "Do you think we should go down and see Hagrid?"

"I think that would be nice. He can't be feeling good right now," Hermione said.

"I guess we didn't really help with Buckbeak as much as we should have," Ron said.

"Speak for yourself," Hermione said.

Harry stopped their argument, saying, "It doesn't matter now. With Malfoy's connections there was really no chance that Buckbeak was going to get off. We could only have delayed it. The best thing we can do right now is to go see Hagrid. I'm sure he wouldn't want to be alone before something like this."

They trudged down to Hagrid's hut. Harry kept a wary eye on their surroundings but didn't see anything. He cursed himself for leaving the map in his trunk. It was no good to him if it was locked up. Someone as canny as Black could be hiding in plain sight and Harry doubted that he'd see him.

"Come in," Hagrid yelled when Hermione knocked on the door. He sounded as if he'd been crying. Ron and Harry exchanged a look. Hermione went inside and they followed, somewhat reluctantly.

"We wanted to see how you were holding up, Hagrid," Hermione said. He was sitting in one of his chairs, a wet handkerchief by his side, his eyes red and nose runny. Hermione laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. He let out another deep sob.

"Alright, I s'pose," Hagrid said. "It was good of yeh to come down. I know Buckbeak would've appreciated it. He liked you all a lot. 'Specially you, Harry."

"It's awful that the ministry is doing this," Hermione said. Behind her, Ron and Harry agreed.

Hagrid nodded dully. He didn't seem in a conversational mood to Harry but Hermione was determined to cheer him up.

"You've been a great teacher this year, Hagrid. If Malfoy hadn't ruined that one lesson I think it would have been a perfect year," Hermione said.

"Yeh think so?"

"Course," Ron said. "Your lessons were always interesting. Especially the ones where we got to actually work with creatures. They were great."

Harry thought that Ron sounded like he was trying too hard but Hagrid seemed pleased. He was blushing, his handkerchief forgotten on the table.

"I had great students, an' that makes everything easier," he said proudly, nudging Hermione and Ron with his elbows.

Hagrid looked at Harry. He seemed to realize something. "And yeh shouldn't have come down here. Not with Sirius Black on the loose. Yeh lot should've known better 'n that. Get going. I don't want to see yeh down here until Black gets caught."

Wishing Hagrid luck, and not wanting to upset him further, they left. Outside Harry saw Dumbledore, Fudge, and another man he didn't recognize walking down to Hagrid's hut.

"Let's go along the edges," Ron said. "We aren't supposed to be down here with you." He looked at Harry.

Hermione shrugged, apparently in agreement, and so they skirted the edge of the Forbidden Forest, out of sight of the party walking down to Hagrid's hut. Harry was scanning the forest for any sign of Black, in human form or otherwise. Ron and Hermione picked up on his unease and they too were keeping an eye on their surroundings.

Harry had no desire to go so near the Forbidden Forest, and away from any help, but he had even less desire to get in trouble with Dumbledore. He didn't even particularly want to see Dumbledore again. What he had said to Harry was still running around his mind, as if in a loop. Besides, he reassured himself, there hadn't been any sightings of Black recently. The last time he had approached the castle there had been warnings from the surrounding towns. He was probably laying low in some out-of-the-way muggle town, waiting for his next chance. He was just being paranoid, Harry rationalized.

They didn't see anything for the first few minutes. The path to the castle was much more roundabout when close to the Forbidden Forest. With each passing minute Harry grew more at ease, less vigilant about watching his surroundings. The thought of Black lurking in the woods, waiting for even a glimpse of him was laughable. If Black came for him it would be inside the castle, a planned incursion.

In the face of such rationalization it came as a surprise when a flash of light smashed into Hermione and she was thrown away from them. Harry instantly brought up a shield and turned to face the source of the spell. Ron yelped and turned as well. Harry wanted to check on Hermione but he didn't dare turn his back on Black.

Black was stalking toward them, a look of intense focus on his face. "Where's the rat?" he rasped.

Harry didn't reply. " _Exstirpo_ ," he muttered.

Black moved out of the way of the spell easily, still coming at them. His reflexes were sharp.

"Odd choice of spell for a Gryffindor," Black said.

Ron seemed paralyzed by fear.

Harry said, " _Confringo_."

Not bothering to move out of the way, Black twirled his wand and the spell dissipated before it even reached him. Harry tried again, launching a volley of spells, but Black deflected each one with contemptuous ease.

Harry and Ron began backing away as Black closed the distance.

"Where's the rat?" the man repeated.

"You're mad; completely bonkers," Ron said weakly.

"You're right. I am mad. Now, tell me, where is the rat? I know you have him. I want the rat. Give him to me," Black said, his voice rising until he was shouting at the end.

Rather than listen to him rant on Harry cast another spell. " _Fervefacio_ ," he said. An intimidating red bolt shot like lightning toward Black, who deflected it into a nearby tree and growled, a sound that came from deep in his throat.

Black turned on Harry and launched a blistering array of spells at him. Harry could only identify a few. He tried dodging, but there were simply too many. Black's nonverbal casting was the best Harry had ever seen. He could launch half a dozen spells in the time it took Cedric to cast one.

The onslaught was too much for Harry and soon he was laying on the ground, a teeth-clenching pain rising from his arm. He vaguely saw Black, transformed into a massive black dog, dragging Ron away. Harry had the presence of mind to raise his wand and, with the last energy he could muster, fire sparks into the sky.

How much time passed Harry couldn't say. Eventually he became aware of another presence next to him, casting spells on him. The pain in his arm eased and vision sharpened. The person put Harry's glasses back on for him. He hadn't noticed they had fallen off.

"Easy. You're alright," Lupin said.

"Ron, he took Ron," Harry said.

Lupin stood. "Where?" He was scanning the surroundings, as if Black was lurking nearby.

"I don't know. I couldn't see. He dragged him off as a dog," Harry said.

"Stay here," Lupin said. He was walking, and then jogging, toward the Womping Willow.

"What about Hermione?" Harry shouted, gesturing toward his fallen friend.

"She'll be fine. Ron, I'm not so sure about," Lupin shouted back.

Harry wasn't about to let Lupin confront Black without him; especially not when Black had Ron. Two wands had to be better than one, Harry reasoned. After checking to make sure that Hermione was alright and sending up another round of sparks he followed after Lupin.

Lupin said nothing when Harry caught up to him. They approached the Womping Willow; its branches were still, as if the tree had been petrified.

"There's a tunnel under the tree that leads to the Shrieking Shack," Lupin said.

"You think Black took Ron there?" Harry asked.

"Yes. This was a place we went during our school years. It makes sense that he would come here. Leave this to me, Harry. I don't want to see you getting hurt. Black's too dangerous."

Harry nodded. He had no intention of throwing himself in harm's way. He just wanted to make sure that Ron was alright and that Lupin beat Black. Harry's blood was rushing, adrenaline pumping; he had a feeling that what he had been waiting for all year, closure, an end one way or another, was rapidly approaching. Fear mingled with excitement and anticipation.

Lupin cast Silencing Charms on Harry and himself. The only noise was slight breeze in the tunnel that tapered off the farther away from the entrance they got. The tunnel was cramped for Harry. He could only imagine how difficult it was for Lupin to maneuver.

As they approached the other end, Lupin in the lead, Harry could hear voices.

"Don't you think I would have noticed," Ron said.

"No. He's too clever for that. He always was good at hiding. Thirteen years is nothing to a man whose only goal is survival," Black said. Harry could hear the bitterness in his voice.

Though he could hear them Harry couldn't see anything. Lupin was blocking the entirety of the passage in front of him. He slunk out of the tunnel, crouching against a wall of the Shrieking Shack that separated the shack's two rooms. Harry followed his lead.

Ron and Black were in the other room. From where they were standing they didn't have a good view of the tunnel exit or Black would certainly have seen them coming. Ron was doing an excellent job of distracting Black, peppering him with questions and outbursts. Harry wondered if it was on purpose, or if Ron was just afraid and talking to make himself feel better.

"Even if what you're saying is true there's nothing you can do now. I don't have him with me," Ron said.

"True," Black said. Harry had a horrible premonition that he was going to kill Ron. That was the first thing every villain did when their prisoner had no value to them, and Ron had just about admitted his uselessness.

Lupin was clearly thinking something along the same lines because he burst from behind the wall and flung a Paralyzing Hex at Black. Harry couldn't see what happened but it didn't bring Black down because there was a round of spells fired in return. Lupin retreated, weaving shields around himself and firing the odd spell back in return. His strategy was largely defensive and Harry could tell, just from the volume of Black's spells and their complexity, that he was outmatched.

With each step Remus took backward Harry could hear Black taking another step forward. Harry knew that he could surprise Black. The man was focused on Lupin. There was no way he would suspect that Harry was around the corner. As soon as he crossed into the room Harry resolved to attack him.

"Stop, Remus!" Black shouted, deflecting a nasty bludgeoner.

Lupin didn't respond. He had backed up against the wall and the bludgeoner was his last offensive spell. All he was doing was blocking Black's attacks; none of which, Harry noticed, were lethal. Some affection for his old friend after all, Harry thought.

Thought Lupin didn't look at him Harry still had the sense that the man had planned for what he was about to do, had trusted him enough to essentially put his life into Harry's hands.

When Black crossed into the room, only a few feet away, Harry had a clear line of sight at him. He pointed his wand and said, almost inaudibly, " _Quasso_."

The bone-breaker hit Black in the knee and he doubled over, his overpowering barrage of spells ended. Lupin dropped his shields and struck Black with a bludgeoner, which threw him into the other room where he impacted against the wall. That was followed by the Incarcerous Spell.

With that done Lupin summoned Black's wand and snapped it. "Just in case," he said.

Harry went into the other room. Black was bound, leaning against the far wall, grimacing. His knee was bleeding and Harry thought that he could see a bright white shard protruding past his pants. Harry looked away and cut the ropes holding Ron in place.

"What happens now?" Ron asked.

"We take him to Dumbledore," Lupin said. "He'll hold him until the ministry comes."

"We're taking him into Hogwarts?" Harry asked. He couldn't keep the accusatory note out of his voice. It was, in his opinion, madness to voluntarily take a murderer into a school full of children.

"Would you rather we wait with him here?" Lupin asked.

Harry crossed his arms, feeling rebellious, and didn't respond. He stared at Black, who met his challenging gaze unblinkingly.

"I could wait with him," Harry said.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Lupin said.

"You don't understand what you're doing. Either of you. We have to find Peter," Black said.

A flick of Lupin's wand silenced Black. "We're going to Dumbledore," Lupin said with a note of finality. "Keep your wands trained on him. Stun him if he tries anything."

Black was hauled roughly to his feet by Lupin and shoved forward. It was nerve wracking going through the tunnels with him. Lupin went first, then Black, then Harry and Ron. Harry had his wand pointed at Black the whole time, waiting for him to try something, hoping that he would try something. All he needed was a reason, an excuse. Lupin couldn't fault him if anything happened to Black because he tried to escape. Nobody could.

They made it out without incident. Black seemed subdued; shoulders hunched, eyes dim. It had been late when they went down to Hagrid's, almost time for curfew. Night had fallen since and the moon was rising in the sky. The grounds were dark, the Forbidden Forest even more imposing than usual. The trees seemed malignant to Harry, like they were harboring some unspeakable dark desire. He shivered and moved on.

Ron was quiet. He seemed upset about something but Harry wasn't focused enough on him to figure out what it could be. His thoughts had turned toward Black; the man was utterly in his power, his fondest and darkest wish coming true. Harry had fantasized about something like it coming to fruition and now that it was here he only had to cast a single spell. He knew the spell. What would Ron and Lupin do? Would they report him? Give him over to the dementors? He doubted Ron would. The other boy already seemed to be in shock over the night's events. He would follow Harry's lead.

Lupin was the problem. He could do nothing while the professor was with him. His feelings toward Black were too complicated. He hated him, yes; but there was something else there, a friendship buried but not destroyed. Lupin would never countenance Harry's vigilantism, even if he agreed with Harry that it was for a good cause, for justice. Justice for Harry's parents. It was so close to Harry but with every step they took toward the castle he could feel it slipping away. There didn't seem to be any conceivable way to fulfill his two goals; destroy Black and stay out of Azkaban.

"I was useless," Ron said suddenly.

"You were defeated by a dangerous man many years your senior. There's nothing to be ashamed of in that. There will always be those that you cannot best. The earlier you come to terms with that the happier and wiser you will be," Lupin said. He glanced over at Harry.

"It all worked out alright though," Harry said, an absent platitude. His attention was on Black.

"Suppose so," Ron said.

Black's lips curled into a savage smile, as if to say that if he had wanted to kill Ron he could have and would have. As if he had shown them some small mercy. Harry's anger flared again; it was a herculean task to restrain himself.

"Not far now, boys. This will all be over soon," Lupin said.

"What's going to happen to Black?" Harry asked. He already suspected, but he wanted to hear it. More importantly, he wanted Black to hear it. From the look Lupin gave him he knew exactly what Harry was trying.

"He'll be given the dementor's kiss," Lupin said flatly.

If Black hadn't been silenced Harry was sure that they would have heard a moan of terror. No man, sane or otherwise, was without fear of dementors. To be Kissed was perhaps the worst fate imaginable to any wizard. He would rather be killed than Kissed, Harry thought.

Black stopped walking. He was looking up at the bright, cloudless sky.

"Keep moving," Harry said, jabbing Black with his wand.

"What's he looking at?" Ron asked.

Lupin looked up, following Black's gaze. His face paled. "No, no, we're so close. I forgot. I never forget. Not tonight."

He sounded panicked, wild, and Harry felt a twinge of fear, though for what he had no idea.

Lupin turned to them. "Run," he said. "Run to the castle. Take Black and run. Tell Dumbledore it's a full moon." He spoke urgently and began to run away from them.

"What's going on?" Ron shouted. He got no response from Lupin.

Black started running toward the castle, as fast as he could move, able to somehow ignore the damage that had been done to his knee.

"Stop!" Harry shouted. He began to chase after Black, wondering if it was the moment he had been waiting for, the excuse, when Ron yelled, fearful, and Black turned back, his eyes clouded with panic. He gestured toward his mouth, best as he was able. Harry was torn between wanting to destroy him and looking back at Ron. Something was preventing him from tearing his eyes from Black, a primeval anger that overrode any of his rational concerns.

Another yell from Ron got Harry's attention. He turned back. Lupin hadn't made it far away, perhaps one hundred yards, before collapsing on the ground. He was writhing around in pain, his body contorting as if he were the victim of a transfiguration gone wrong. Hair had started to sprout and his limbs were elongating. The robes he was wearing were tearing from the strain.

Black appeared by Harry's side, pure terror on his face. Harry dispelled the silencing charm on him. If anyone would have an idea what was going on with Lupin it would be Black.

"What's happening?" Harry asked.

"We need to get in the castle right now," Black said. "He's a werewolf and it's a full moon."

Harry had known fear, it was not an unfamiliar companion. Panic was something else, something worse. The idea of being alone, on the grounds, with a werewolf and a mass murderer was not something Harry thought he could deal with.

"Ron, run!" Harry shouted. His yell seemed to shake Ron out of his paralyzing shock and he began sprinting toward Harry and Black.

There was no Lupin. The transformation had finished. All that was left were tatters of robes and an enormous wolf, twice the size of Lupin, howling up into the sky. Its howl sent a chill down Harry's spine; he knew that he had become prey.

"Run," Black said.

They made a dash for the castle, Harry's desire to end Black temporarily suspended in the face of greater danger. Ron was panting raggedly and Black didn't seem to be in much better shape, his knee slowing him down. Harry didn't particularly care if the werewolf (Lupin, he reminded himself) got Black but it looked as if Ron would be the creature's first victim.

The sound of the werewolf got louder behind them. Its feet stomped the ground, the heavy reverberations seeming to shake the earth. Or was it just his fear, Harry wondered? The panting was growing unambiguously louder. He didn't dare to look back but Harry knew that the creature would be closing in on them. It was too quick; the perfect predator. Canny, strong, fast, vicious. A dark creature.

"Keep running," Black said. He slowed his run and, out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see the man transforming. He cursed, knowing that the man was going to run away. He had a much better chance in his animagus form and there was no way Harry was going to go chasing after him with a werewolf behind him.

To Harry's surprise Black didn't run. There was a howl of pain from behind them and then a yelp. Harry risked a glance back and saw Black and the werewolf squaring off, a tear down Black's flank complementing a gaping wound on the werewolf's thigh.

The castle was close, a minute's run, Harry knew. He had taken the path often enough. It didn't sound as if Black would last long enough. The battle between the two had turned into a slaughter, with the werewolf battering Black around as if he were nothing. Without the element of surprise Black couldn't hope to even come close to matching him.

Fortunately for Black the werewolf didn't seem interested in him. It clattered him away one last time (and Black stayed down) before launching itself toward Ron and Harry, running on all fours, eating up the ground between them.

The hope that Harry had been feeling vanished. The werewolf was preternaturally fast. In desperation Harry sent a Bombarding Charm back at the creature, the best he could manage without stopping to cast, but it didn't hit.

Ron's eyes were wide with fear next to him. His pace was slacking despite his panic. Harry wracked his brain for any spells that he could use on the beast. The Disintegrating Curse could work but he didn't want to kill Lupin. Black was a special case, he deserved whatever he got. Lupin was a good man. Harry needed a spell that could stop a werewolf without killing it; a tall order for a third year.

Harry knew that he couldn't let the creature ravage the grounds either. If nobody had picked her up Hermione would still be out there. Harry regretted leaving her there; his haste to chase Black could have doomed her. The werewolf could find her, and kill her. It had to be put down, permanently or otherwise.

He wasn't thinking clearly, all possible solutions were evading him. The sound of the werewolf behind Harry panicked him. Ron raised his wand and sent up sparks that made a loud boom when they exploded in the air. Harry hadn't considered calling for aid. He knew that no matter what they would be too late. The werewolf was too close.

There was a split moment of silence, the sound of the werewolf's paws leaving the earth, and then Ron was crushed to the ground just behind Harry, the werewolf landing on his back. It immediately began savaging Ron, its claws and mouth tearing at him, making grotesque squelching and ripping noises.

Ron screamed, a piercing, heart wrenching sound, and Harry cast the first spell that came to mind. " _Iaculum_ ," Harry shouted.

A silver mass gathered at the tip of his wand for a moment, as if charging itself, then was flung forward with unexpected force and speed, striking the werewolf with enough power to knock it off of Ron. Harry saw a flash of blood where the spell struck it. Silently he thanked Cedric for stealing the Silver Spear spell from the library. It was designed to work on magical creatures, incapacitate and weaken them, silver being effective on many different breeds. Especially werewolves, Harry remembered.

" _Iaculum_ ," he said again, firing the spell at the werewolf pushing itself to its feet. The previous spell had torn a hole in the creature's sternum; this time it had hit the creature in its thigh. Blood was rushing forth from the deep wounds. The werewolf was struggling to push itself to its feet, its eyes wild with hatred and pain and bloodlust.

Harry didn't want to cast the spell again. He reminded himself that Lupin was in the wolf, that a man was inside; a good man. But the werewolf wouldn't stay down. Shakily, it stood on all fours. Foam covered its muzzle. It panted loudly. There was no recognition in its eyes.

Black was slinking toward them, from behind the wolf, at the same time Harry lifted his wand at the werewolf, which looked as if it was set to spring.

Ron was unmoving on the ground. There were long gashes and bite marks all over his body. The werewolf had done an incredible amount of damage in the short time it had been on top of him. That made up Harry's mind for him.

Ignoring Black, Harry intoned the spell for the last time. " _Iaculum_."

It lanced into the werewolf's sternum and the creature went down, still panting, but not making any moves to get up. Harry started binding it with ropes. He knew that they wouldn't hold it if it tried to get loose but hoped that they would give him some warning and extra time to react.

Black was bleeding nearly as profusely as the werewolf, long cuts from the werewolf's claws along his animagus' body. He transformed back into a human.

"He was finished," Black shouted. "You've killed him with the last spell. Killed him! He trusted you!"

Spittle flew from Black's mouth. Harry could see madness in his eyes; he was delirious from the pain and shock.

"It was simple; get the rat and tell you the truth. That's all! And you fucked it up!" he shouted.

Harry took a step back as Black advanced on him, hobbling because of his ruined knee. "Stay back," Harry warned, his wand leveled.

It was the moment, finally come. No witnesses, the perfect excuse. There was nothing to stay his hand. Justice could be done. But Harry could feel himself wavering. It had seemed as if it would be so easy. Just two words. Nothing simpler. He had practiced and sacrificed so that if the moment came he could take advantage of it. Yet something held him back; whether it was fear, compassion, or some vague sense of right and wrong Harry couldn't say.

Black didn't seem to realize the danger he was in. Azkaban was in his eyes, a fragmented madness. No man could spend so much time with the dementors and emerge whole. He continued ranting, drawing closer to Harry, gesticulating furiously.

Harry warned him again to stay back. Again Black didn't listen.

The moment was slipping out of his control, Harry knew. It was moving away from Harry's choice, a pursuit of justice, toward him lashing out from fear, self-defense. There was nothing noble in that; it was base, almost cowardly. In his fantasies Harry had always been in complete control. The moment had moved according to his whims and direction. He had never accounted for Black's madness.

Harry's mind had not been on what Black was saying for some time, but he quite clearly heard Black say, "Your father would be ashamed of you."

After that there was nothing left for Harry to decide, no rational appraisal of the situation that would lead to an outcome Harry desired. It was the simplest thing in the world to say those two simple words. The hate he felt for Black was like the sun and all else was nothing but dull stars in comparison. His mother's scream flashed in his ears and it seemed to Harry that he saw Black's face from the papers, screaming and mad, superimposed over Black's face as he was approaching Harry. They two faces, thirteen years apart, were a perfect match. Insanity and cruelty the defining features.

" _Avada Kedavra_ ," Harry said.

There was shock in Black's eyes, as if at the last moment he had come to his senses. Harry thought he saw something else, regret perhaps; or even thankfulness; but then it was gone with the awareness in Black's eyes.

The euphoria lifted Harry like a wave, stronger than ever before, his smile a rictus of artificial magic. The blinding green flash took with it all of Harry's hate and malice, leaving him feeling oddly empty, as if he were cut loose of a load that he had borne so long he had forgotten how to feel it. The screaming in his head stopped with the spell. The silence and stillness of the grounds came rushing over Harry, overwhelming him with its contrast to the swirl of confused emotions inside of him.

Black had been taking a step forward when the Killing Curse found him. Inertia carried him forward and he toppled to the ground, his face making a cracking noise as it met the ground.

Harry had assumed that he would feel a sense of satisfaction or victory. The cloud that had been casting darkness over his entire year was finally banished. But he felt nothing of the sort. A sort of numbness mixed with revulsion was all that was left to him.

Mechanically he went over to check on Ron. His pulse was fading and breathing weak. Harry had the presence of mind to once again fire off sparks. It seemed to him that he had been swimming against a current for a very long time and just as he reached the shore exhaustion was starting to set in.

The werewolf was no longer struggling at all. The blood loss, combined with the effects of the silver in Harry's spell, had caused it to become subdued. There was too much blood around him, Harry thought. It was mixing with the ground, puddling in some places, and the smell was overpowering. It made him gag. Once he noticed the smell it became unendurable.

He was sitting in one such puddle of blood when Dumbledore and Fudge found him. Fudge let out a horrified gasp and was rooted to the spot.

Dumbledore swept into action. He sent his patronus (what it was Harry couldn't make out) toward Hogwarts and, waving his wand in a complicated fashion, conjured a massive silver cage around the fallen werewolf. It didn't stir. Dumbledore strode over to Ron, a storm in his eyes, and muttered an endless stream of incantations, each of which produced a whirring sound or dull color, though what they signified Harry had no idea.

Fudge was eying Harry nervously, as he would a dangerous savage. Harry didn't have the energy to imagine what the scene must look like from his point of view. It was too difficult to keep his eyes open as it was, without exerting any great energy on trying to figure out what other people were thinking or wanted.

When Dumbledore was finished with Ron he levitated him off the ground. Ron rotated there for a few seconds before Dumbledore whistled, a higher pitch than Harry thought the man should be capable, and there was a flash of fire, out of which Fawkes flew. The bird latched on to Ron with one talon and disappeared in another burst of flame.

Harry looked at Dumbledore uncomprehendingly as he walked over to him. Dumbledore surveyed him, his face cycling through emotions too quickly for Harry to make out, and then he was raising his wand at Harry.

Harry's tiredness became too powerful to resist. He didn't try. He fell into a dreamless, untroubled, sleep.

* * *

The Hospital Wing was identifiable only because of its blinding whiteness. Harry was comfortably tucked into a bed. He couldn't see; his glasses were on the nightstand next to him, along with his wand. Someone handed him his glasses. He put them on.

"Welcome back," Cedric said. They were the only people in the hospital wing.

"Where is everyone?" Harry asked.

"Hermione is out of the hospital wing. She and I have been taking turns waiting for you to wake up. I think she's getting some sleep right now. Madam Pomfrey couldn't give us any exact estimate for when you'd be awake. We thought that you'd want someone you knew by your side."

"Thanks, but what about Ron and Professor Lupin?" Harry asked.

Cedric's face fell, but he didn't shy away from the truth. "They're at St Mungo's. Their injuries were too severe to be treated here. Madam Pomfrey has been keeping us updated; apparently she knows some mediwizards over there. Ron looks like he's pulling through but they're still not sure about Professor Lupin."

"Ron got bitten," Harry said, still not quite sure of the implications of what he was saying. It still felt like he hadn't completely woken up yet.

Cedric nodded sympathetically. He lowered his voice, as if he were at a funeral. "He's contracted lycanthropy. One bite is enough to do it and Ron was apparently pretty savaged. He'll have scars, they say. You don't have to worry though. They're keeping it under wraps. Hermione told me, but other than us only Ron's family and Dumbledore know. Dumbledore said that Ron will not, under any circumstances, be withdrawing from Hogwarts. He seemed quite insistent about that. He said that accommodations have been made before and they can be made again."

It seemed impossible, Ron being a werewolf. Rationally, Harry accepted it. He was bitten. That was what happened when you were bitten. A larger part of him didn't see how it was possible. Even when he was watching it happen he hadn't really thought that Ron could be permanently hurt, suffer any disfigurements or illnesses.

Harry had accepted his own mortality. He had never even considered that it would be his friend who suffered in his stead.

"Accommodations they made for Lupin."

"Yes, but that's not the worst news. Professor Lupin…he bit someone. Gave them lycanthropy. That's illegal, a criminal offense even if Ron doesn't press charges."

"What's going to happen to him?" Harry asked.

"He'll be sent to Azkaban. Life sentence. I'm sorry, Harry. I know that you were close, even if you did have a falling out at the end."

"He was a good man," Harry said simply. He wasn't sure if he was just cold, numb from killing Black, but he didn't feel nearly as much in regard to Lupin as he had to Ron. Lupin was an adult. He should have been smarter, known that it was a full moon. Frankly, Harry thought that he had endangered them all. Black was dangerous, but not as indiscriminate as a werewolf loose on the castle grounds. That wasn't to say Harry didn't feel bad. Lupin had been kind to him and helped him every step along the way. What was happening to him was tragic. But it wasn't as tragic as what happened to Ron. Ron didn't deserve what had happened to him.

"I don't want to pry but, Harry, what happened to Black?" Cedric asked with hesitation and anticipation in equal amounts.

"They haven't told you much, have they?" Harry asked.

"I think you're the only one who knows exactly what happened. Dumbledore has pieced a lot of it together from talking to Ron and what he saw but there are still pieces missing."

"I killed him, Cedric. I killed Black. He didn't have his wand but he was coming at me. Azkaban drove him mad. I kept telling him to back away but he wouldn't listen."

Harry examined himself for what he felt about Black's death and felt only ambivalence. There was none of the elation that he had expected; there was also none of the guilt that he had feared. Instead he just felt an emptiness deep within him, as if a fundamental part of his being had been cracked and clumsily repaired by his experience. He didn't feel upset about whatever was broken. He just knew that things would never be quite the same again, though he wasn't sure in what way they would change.

Cedric didn't seem surprised by Harry's admission. "The Daily Prophet ran a story saying that Black was dead. Someone named Rita Skeeter found out somehow. The article was short on details though."

"Dumbledore brought me here?" Harry asked, wanting to change the subject. He had no desire to dwell on Black any longer.

"He's been around a lot. Seems to alternate between here, the ministry and St. Mungo's. I gather it's been a pretty busy couple of days for him," Cedric said.

"Am I going to be sent to Azkaban?" Harry asked.

"Of course not." Cedric looked appalled at the very idea. "You're more likely to win an Order of Merlin First Class than to be sent to Azkaban. Black was a Death Eater, one of the worst. Far as I'm concerned, and I'm not trying to sound insensitive, you did everyone a favor. You shouldn't feel guilty about it."

"I don't. I'm just…tired."

"You've been sleeping for long enough you prima donna. Time to get out of bed, drag a comb across your head, stop laying about.

Harry appreciated Cedric's attempt at levity but he wasn't quite feeling it himself. His thoughts were a mess. Ron had lycanthropy. Lupin was going to Azkaban. Black was dead. It seemed too much. One bad night had changed everything.

He couldn't help but feel that it was his fault. Harry had known what kind of threat Black was, yet he had foolishly agreed to go see Hagrid with them, putting everyone at risk. It was sheer luck that he and Hermione had escaped relatively unharmed. Ron and Lupin were the bearers of the consequences of his bad decision.

"Lupin is a good man," Harry said.

Cedric seemed confused by the shift in the conversation but said, "He is, but the law is the law. Even the Minister of Magic couldn't pardon Lupin now. He's on his own. The case seems pretty clear."

"You're quite right, Mr. Diggory," Dumbledore said. He was standing in the doorway of the Hospital Wing. "If you don't mind, I would like the chance to speak to Mr. Potter alone. There are some things we must discuss." His eyes were dull, flecked with frustration. It was a look one didn't associate with Albus Dumbledore.

"Of course, Headmaster," Cedric said. He gave Harry a squeeze of the shoulder as a sign of solidarity and then left.

Dumbledore took Cedric's vacated seat by Harry's bed.

"I'm sure that you're now aware of the situation," Dumbledore said.

"Yes, professor," Harry said.

"Harry, I would like you to tell me what happened that night, from the beginning. Leave nothing out." Dumbledore was not being polite, he was being commanding.

Harry obliged. He didn't mention the spell he used on Black, his only exclusion. In retrospect he wasn't sure why he had chosen that spell. It was too identifiable, unless they thought Black died of his wounds. The Killing Curse left no trace. It was almost as if the spell had wanted to be cast. Harry brushed aside such thoughts.

Dumbledore was looking at Harry intently throughout the story and Harry met his eyes. To his surprise Dumbledore didn't ask about how he killed Black. He sighed when Harry got to that part, his mood seeming to dim even more, but he didn't probe further.

"Thank you, Harry," Dumbledore said when he had finished.

"What's going to happen to Ron?" Harry asked.

"He will be kept at St. Mungo's for the foreseeable future and likely for his first transformation as well. I will not lie to you; it isn't going to be pleasant for him. He will need the company of his friends and family now more than ever. I have taken it upon myself already to suggest to Molly Weasley that you spend a good deal of time with him this summer. You, more than most your age, understand what it means to suffer. It can be a great comfort to have beside you someone who understands your pain. Your friend will be relying on you, Harry, but I have great faith in your ability to validate that trust."

"I'll do my best," Harry said. The immensity of the task before him was daunting. The prospect of his own pain and suffering didn't frighten Harry; it was a fact of life. The prospect of having to deal with Ron's pain and suffering was a good deal more frightening.

"As I said earlier, there is little we can do for Professor Lupin. His fate was sealed the moment he forgot to take the Wolfsbane Potion and left his office. I see now, from your story, that Professor Lupin must have seen the sparks you sent up and gone to help, forgetting his potion in the process. Alas, it is often the smallest lapses that have the greatest consequences."

"Is Hermione alright?" Harry asked. He felt guilty for leaving her behind, especially because she had been so near the Forbidden Forest.

"Yes, Hagrid collected Miss Granger. He was talking a walk to comfort himself over the loss of Buckbeak and happened upon her. A stroke of luck for Miss Granger. The harm she received at the hands of Sirius Black was minimal."

"Fudge was with you. He saw everything. He saw Black," Harry said.

"Yes. Minister Fudge does not have any real familiarity with violence. He found the scene disquieting. However, he is delighted to no longer have Sirius Black to contend with. I understand there is some talk of awarding you an Order of Merlin."

"I don't deserve an Order of Merlin."

"The plaudits that come our way are rarely due to what we deserve, Harry. We simply must make the best of it that we can."

"What happens now?" Harry asked.

"Now? Now you will finish the year awaiting the results of your examination along with your peers. I will arrange for you and Miss Granger to visit Mr. Weasley in the hospital, should you so desire. It will, I suspect, be rather dull in comparison with the other events that have taken place this year."

Dumbledore rose to his feet. "Other duties call me, Harry. Madam Pomfrey has informed me that you will be able to leave the Hospital Wing today, should she find nothing wrong with you."

Harry nodded and Dumbledore walked to the door. Before Dumbledore left he turned to Harry and said, "I must insist that you not take any more nightly trips to the restricted section, Harry. Some knowledge can only lead to destruction. Do not dwell too much on your mistakes. If we let it, the past takes us prisoner. It is only through great effort that we can break free of it and create a brighter future."

It was not long before Pomfrey returned. She fussed over Harry very little, letting him leave the Hospital Wing after the extraction of a promise that he would return if he felt any pain.

Harry supposed that he should return to the Gryffindor Common room to try to find Hermione, talk to her, but that didn't appeal to him at all. He found the idea of explaining himself again repulsive. The only reason he had held up through Dumbledore's questioning was that Dumbledore knew precisely how hard to push, almost like a sixth sense. Hermione had no such grace.

Rather than returning to his peers, Harry returned to the spot where Black had died. There was no sign that a battle had ever been fought there; the blood was gone, scorch marks from missed spells had vanished, slashes in the grass from Lupin's claws repaired. It was as if the whole thing had been an unpleasant dream from which Harry was only just awakening. The absence of any harm done to him only furthered that illusion. He supposed that reality would only set in once he went to see Ron, saw the consequences of his decisions first hand.

The future did not, Harry reflected, look bright at all.

* * *

Hermione and Harry were alone in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express. They had been passing the trip in a contemplative silence. Things had changed between them. Between Harry and everyone.

Fudge had released a statement which gave some of the details of the night. In it, he claimed that Sirius Black had been defeated by Harry Potter singlehandedly. In recognition of Harry's efforts on behalf of the Wizarding Britain the Minister was going to award him the Order of Merlin, First Class. A ceremony would be held later in the summer. Harry had no desire to go.

Where Harry had once had an easy relationship with his peers, friendly with almost all (except for the Slytherins), that had morphed into a sort of fear and awe. Sirius Black had been a nightmare come to life for most of the Hogwarts students. For Harry to have brought him down was an almost inconceivable accomplishment for someone of his age. There were whispers in the hall that Harry was going to be the next Albus Dumbledore.

Some disagreed. They said that Dumbledore hadn't accomplished half of what Harry had at his age.

It was better than everyone in the school thinking that he was the Heir of Slytherin, but not by much. Friendliness or, failing that, anonymity, was what Harry craved. To be held in awe for murdering an unarmed man struck him as profoundly strange. Nobody ever referred to what Harry did as murder, or killing. They called it taking Black down, or destroying him, or bringing him to justice. There were dozens of euphemisms that were used in the place of killing. Harry thought that they wouldn't be so quick to praise him if they were forced to come to terms with what it meant to take another human life. Harry didn't regret killing Black, but he didn't think that it deserved praise. He was just happy that that particular chapter of his life was over.

Grades had come out while the students were still at Hogwarts. The teachers had rushed them in an attempt, many thought, to try to distract them from recent events. Harry had gotten Outstandings on everything but Potions, History of Magic, and Herbology, for which he had gotten Acceptables. Hermione had, of course, received Outstandings in everything.

Since Hermione and Harry had planned to visit Ron in St. Mungo's McGonagall gave them his grades, sealed. Throughout the visit Harry clutched them like they were a shield to protect him from any ire or blame. Ron hadn't seemed interested in checking what his grades were, but neither did he seem in a particularly bad mood. Harry thought that he hadn't quite come to terms with what had happened to him. He suspected that Ron's first transformation would be quite unpleasant for him and resolved to support his friend through it.

"I was sorry to hear about Lupin," Ron had said.

"It's terrible, what they're doing to him," Hermione exclaimed. She continually talked about Lupin's imprisonment in Azkaban to Harry; she was crusading for him to be released but her letters to the Ministry had gone unheeded. In the excitement over Sirius Black's death nobody seemed very interested in Remus Lupin's fate beyond the mandatory application of justice. He was just a werewolf, after all.

"I know he didn't have control over it. Things could've been worse. At least we all survived, right?" Ron said.

"Just another year at Hogwarts," Harry said. Ron and Hermione laughed, but it was a laugh to cover up their true thoughts.

There was a gulf that existed between the three of them, similar to what had existed between the two of them and Harry at one point in the year, but more permanent, due to factors outside of their control. Harry wore his guilt like the trappings of a king; every time he looked at Ron he saw only his own failings. His desire to do right by his friend, be there for him as long as he was needed, conflicted with his notion that everything that had happened to him was Harry's fault. Ron would never have been in such a situation if not for him, Harry knew.

Ron put on a brave face for them but there was going to be a breakdown, a point at which the reality of his situation came to him. Harry knew that. It was only a matter of when. His feelings were the most uncomplicated compared to Harry and Hermione but only for the moment. Once the realization struck his would be the most irreconcilable difference.

Hermione had been cool to Harry since the incident with Black. At first he had thought that it was because he had left her behind; either she was frustrated because she hadn't been there to help or she was upset that Harry left her in danger, so close to the Forbidden Forest. He apologized to her and she accepted it but her attitude didn't change.

Harry came to realize that it wasn't the way he had treated her that had led to her behavior; it was what he had done. His murder of Black (Hermione being the only one who referred to it as such) changed her opinion of him. It was as if she had held him up as a paragon of virtue and she had finally seen who he really was, and she was left disappointed.

Rather than confronting Harry she threw herself into figuring out ways to help Ron adjust. She was learning how to brew the Wolfsbane Potion and other assorted potions that would help to treat the mood swings and pains that came with the full moon. Most of her last days at Hogwarts had been spent in the library, trying to learn everything there was to know about werewolves. She consulted memoirs, technical texts, spell books, and even the ravings of bigoted lunatics. It was a typical Hermione response to conflict, Harry thought. When there was something she didn't want to deal with she threw herself into her work.

That wasn't to say that Harry thought himself any better. He wasn't sure how to proceed with Hermione. It was as if he could see their friendship weakening, being set on a course from which it couldn't recover, and yet he had no ideas about how to save it. He was resigned to ignoring the underlying problems much the same way that Hermione was.

Ron sat obliviously throughout all of their inner turmoil. He seemed to determine to appear cheery, put on a good face for them. It was difficult for Harry to tell how much was feigned and how much was real. Ron had never been one for acting before. It was a new face on Harry's oldest friend.

Harry and Hermione had left Ron after promising to spend a good deal of the summer with him. They had already worked out with Mrs. Weasley a schedule and plan for getting to and from the Burrow. Dumbledore had created a portkey that would activate on a certain schedule to enable them to come and go easily. He was being as helpful as anyone and Mrs. Weasley couldn't stop praising the headmaster.

Based on Cedric's promises Harry doubted that he would be spending much time with the Dursleys over the summer. He didn't think that they would mind. Cedric's dad already had tickets to three quidditch matches and a dueling match between the reigning and former champions of the European Circuit. Cedric promised Harry that it would be as exciting as it would be edifying. It was the only part of Harry's summer that was likely to be pleasant.

Cedric's attitude toward Black's death was less complicated than Hermione's. He didn't seem willing to condemn Harry; especially when he was given the full story. Righteous indignation wasn't something Cedric did often or well. He tended toward more pragmatic judgements. He was never going to praise Harry for killing Black, but neither would he condemn him. That suited Harry fine.

As he sat silently in the Hogwarts Express compartment with Hermione, Harry thought that he was almost glad to be going back to the Dursleys, something he had never expected would happen. His time with the Dursleys was a general sort of mediocrity, but without the highs and lows that had characterized his year at Hogwarts. Stability, a place where his expectations would be met and nothing unusual would happen, was all that Harry craved. For once Harry agreed with the Dursleys; he could do with a break from freakishness.

"It's going to be hard next year," Hermione said.

Harry didn't say anything, waiting for her to elaborate. Sometimes Hermione liked to talk without knowing where her thoughts would lead. She was using Harry more as a prop to bounce her ideas off of rather than a genuine participant in a conversation.

"Nobody else knows that Ron contracted lycanthropy. We'll have to hide it. I'm not sure even Dumbledore could protect Ron if people found out about him. Someone like Malfoy wouldn't have any problem telling the entire student body about Ron."

"You think it would be that bad?" Harry asked.

"Why do you think Professor Lupin kept it a secret? Werewolves are discriminated against by everybody; they're seen as the dregs of wizarding society. It's almost impossible for them to go to normal schools or get a long-term job. It ruins lives. And that's before you take into account the strain that lycanthropy puts a person under, both mental and physical. There are accounts of people going mad from the curse, which, in turn, helps to fuel the negative stereotypes about werewolves. Ron's going to need our help."

"I had no idea," Harry said. The guilt gnawed at him, reminding him that whatever became of Ron was, at least partially, his fault. In many ways he had taken Ron's life into his hands, albeit unintentionally.

"I know you didn't," Hermione said, a touch unkindly.

"We'll be there for him."

"Yes. We will."

When the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station Hermione left Harry with the most perfunctory of goodbyes. He didn't blame her. What had happened was hard on everyone. It was his hope that the summer would help them all to come to terms with it.

Harry saw Cedric and gave him a friendly nod, which was returned. He picked up his suitcase and Hedwig's cage and left the platform. Uncle Vernon was waiting for him, checking his watch, one foot tapping impatiently. It was a comforting sight for all of its normality.

As Harry walked over to him he considered the year he had just had, and what Dumbledore had told him. His behavior had been unwise, he could concede that. Much of what had happened was due to his choices.

If his third year had been about power, the accumulation of it through any means necessary, then he decided that his next year would be about the wisdom that Dumbledore had spoken of; learning how to consider his actions and the reverberations they caused that echoed not only among his friends and enemies, but the entire wizarding world.

"Hello, Uncle Vernon," Harry said.

 **AN: Well, that's it. The end of my first ever full length story. If you have any praise, constructive criticism, or just criticism, please leave a review. I'm always looking to improve my writing.**

 **I'm not sure that I'll be writing a sequel. The possibility is there and I've left room for that but it doesn't immediately appeal to me. I've started writing another story and should start posting it soon. It's more of a romance, where Hunting the Grim was supposed to be a tragedy.**

 **Anyway, thanks for reading and I hope you've enjoyed Hunting the Grim.**


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